Saturday, December 27, 2008

I'm like a canary the way I'll never stay one place for long.

I'll play in finger-paint and draw cities on the bedroom walls. I'll splash through rain puddles and spin in circles to test my new sunday dress. I'll sing and dance loudly around my room to the Submarines. And yet I am terrified of never knowing what I am to do with myself. I am only a child. Not particularly the ideal... not particularly concerned with the casualties of such a state. Maybe even somewhat oblivious? Who knows. 


"They made a statue of us and it put it on a mountain top. Now tourists come and stare at us, blow bubbles with their gum and take photographs for fun, for fun. They'll name a city after us and later say it's all our fault. Then they'll give us a talking to, then they'll give us a talking to because they've got years of experience. We're living in a den of thieves, rummaging for answers in the pages. We're living in a den of thieves. And it's contagious. We wear our scarves just like a noose, but not 'cause we want eternal sleep. And though our parts are slightly used, new ones are slave labor you can keep. We're living in a den of thieves, rummaging for answers in the pages. We're living in a den of thieves. And it's contagious. "-Regina Spektor

1 comment:

Bryn Bodayle said...

are you for serious, that song is next on my itunes library to play.