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As ratios go and percentages lie, she’s one quarter jackrabbit chase,
One quarter woman and one quarter wolf and one quarter priceless ming vase,
The chase is that fast-forward zig-zagging life that keeps her arms up and alert,
The woman is kneeling with blood on her hands and twenty-three mouths full of dirt.
The wolf has gone silent and bristles all day. It stares out with hackles on high,
The vase has been shattered and glued back together ten times every year from The Lie.
She’s one Siamese twin there with no better half, a vampire lost in the night.
She needs to find safety before the sun rises and threatens her world with light.
She lives in a world of dance and romance where call girls have found their calling.
She tries to join in but all that she finds are fall guys that find that they’re falling
In love with the target that’s drawn on her heart in some glowing fluorescent red paint.
They all miss their mark ‘cause no matter their skill, they’re shooting for something she ain’t.
The men aim straight up for a pedestal’s height near the clouds but just down from the sky
Their arrows all miss with trajectories drawn from parabolas aiming too high
They’re looking up into the sun and they’re blind to the person that’s standing right there.
With a smirk on her face and a curious look at their weapons and muscles and hair
She’s carved out of wood, she’s made out of light, she’s love in a moth-eaten purse.
She’s agile inside and out and she’s flawed and I’m telling you God could do worse.
Those few extra pounds, that one crooked tooth, the scar from the bike wreck in Hope.
The fly-off-the-handle-c’mere-go-away little games that she’ll play and the mope.
These things are not flaws, the shore up the greatness. They root her in realworld love.
Her suitors don’t see this and loose their black arrows to heavenly flights up above.
These men are all aiming for angels and missing. They’ll wonder just what they did wrong.
The person that gets her will finally click to the truth that she’s yours for a song.
tags
One quarter woman and one quarter wolf and one quarter priceless ming vase,
The chase is that fast-forward zig-zagging life that keeps her arms up and alert,
The woman is kneeling with blood on her hands and twenty-three mouths full of dirt.
The wolf has gone silent and bristles all day. It stares out with hackles on high,
The vase has been shattered and glued back together ten times every year from The Lie.
She’s one Siamese twin there with no better half, a vampire lost in the night.
She needs to find safety before the sun rises and threatens her world with light.
She lives in a world of dance and romance where call girls have found their calling.
She tries to join in but all that she finds are fall guys that find that they’re falling
In love with the target that’s drawn on her heart in some glowing fluorescent red paint.
They all miss their mark ‘cause no matter their skill, they’re shooting for something she ain’t.
The men aim straight up for a pedestal’s height near the clouds but just down from the sky
Their arrows all miss with trajectories drawn from parabolas aiming too high
They’re looking up into the sun and they’re blind to the person that’s standing right there.
With a smirk on her face and a curious look at their weapons and muscles and hair
She’s carved out of wood, she’s made out of light, she’s love in a moth-eaten purse.
She’s agile inside and out and she’s flawed and I’m telling you God could do worse.
Those few extra pounds, that one crooked tooth, the scar from the bike wreck in Hope.
The fly-off-the-handle-c’mere-go-away little games that she’ll play and the mope.
These things are not flaws, the shore up the greatness. They root her in realworld love.
Her suitors don’t see this and loose their black arrows to heavenly flights up above.
These men are all aiming for angels and missing. They’ll wonder just what they did wrong.
The person that gets her will finally click to the truth that she’s yours for a song.
tags