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Braille Lyrics
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god so she named the baby Elvis to make up for the royalty he lacked And from then on it was turpentine and patches From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can They were just two jerks playing with matches 'Cause that's all they knew how to play And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window And she knew they'd be destined to become sacred roadkill on the way And she was listening to the sound of heaven shaking thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes 'Cause it's been turpentine and patches It's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can And they were just two jerks playing with matches 'Cause that's all they knew how to play What they knew how to play Elvis never could carry a tune and she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin saying, Well, why don't I begin again with turpentine and patches with cold, cold Campbell's from the can After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches It's just that he's not around to play along yeah, I'm still an asshole playing with candles Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams Just sitting here and trying to decipher what's written in Braille upon my skin this skin... She was lying on the floor and counting stretch... She was lying on the floor and counting stretch... She was lying on the floor lying, lying... counting stretch.... |
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10-10-2009
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10-24-2009
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11-19-2009
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01-04-2010
She's lying on the floor, wallowing in regret and trying to make herself feel better, but nothing's working.
She knows she's going to be poor and feels like nothing will ever be the same. She and him had played with fire because they didn't know how to have a healthy, stable relationship, and she'd gotten burnt.
She's driving in the car (possibly to the hospital to give birth?) and is contemplating her past mistakes. She thinks that God is mad at her because of her mistake and is making life harder for her because of it.
The baby ends up being imperfect and below average, while she's growing old beyond her years. The father of her child left her. She feels like she's ruining her life, the life of her child and of many other people in her life. She wishes she could start over and do it all again.
She still lies on the floor; all this had been her imagination. She's feeling the marks, bruise, and bumps (the baby?) on her skin and trying to figure out what it all means for her. She's still just lying there, but after her contemplation she can't do it anymore. She feels trapped, lost, and alone because of what could happen.
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