As Long as You Know

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  • Sadness
    • Paint
    • is doin some Solitary Thinkin-- Lee Ann Womack

    As Long as You Know
    As long as you know you're in the fire
    As long as you make yourself at home
    let's talk about what is so dire
    I hope you don't mind my heartless tone
     
    The lyrics to my song you know
    but can you sing the melody?
    The pieces of the puzzle go
    but no not all in harmony
    Do you like my symphony?
    I painted it with my scars
    I love your beaten blue and black
    would you like a drink of tar?
     
    Let's remodel this old stinkin house
    where is the money to pay?
    I guess we'll just live it out
    but I'm not going out to play.
     
    You want to stay fine with me
    Just say I gave fair warning
    my house might be familiar
    but I've been decorating
     
    More black paint here
    More coldness there
    A little bit of hardness where?
    where do you suppose it go?
    I just can't figure so.
     
    A little to the left
    or more to the right?
    tell me, let's make light
     
    Would you like to see the secrets I keep
    in the basement with the books I read?
    Don't be scared, I'll lead you myself
    but what's there I'll never tell
     
    speechless would you be,
    if the stars I did really keep?
    speechless would you be,
    if the sun I kept in lock and key?
     
    would you run if my guitar was out of tune?
    would you hide at my awful sad prelude?
     
    would you tell me when you had enough?
    I have lots to show, but you don't have to stay
    You hold my hand, isn't it rough?
    if you want to leave all you have to do is say

    Tell me your stories about all your hauntings
    I've got time maybe it will keep the ghosts from taunting
    Lend me your knife, let me paint you a chair
    my manners... yes, they're gone I fear
     
    I'll paint out your words
    if you buy the canvas
    I'll play out my song
    if you can stand it
    Just say that I gave you fair warning
    if my friend you decide to leave
    don't be sorry you found me
    but here you won't find relief.

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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