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Foto del escritorPadiesha

"The Center of the World", Bright Eyes (Fevers and Mirrors, 2000)



At the center of the world

There's a statue of a girl.

She is standing near a well

With a bucket bare and dry.


I went and looked her in the eyes

And she turned me into sand.

This clumsy form that I despise

It scattered easy in her hand.


And came to rest upon a beach,

With a million others there.

We sat and waited for the sea

To stretch out so that we could disappear


Into the endlessness of blue,

Into the horror of the truth.

You see, we are far less than we knew.

Yeah, we are far less than we knew


But we knew what we could taste.

Girls found honey to drench our hands.

Men cut marble to mark our graves.

Said we'll need something to remind us of

All the sweetness that has passed through us

(fresh sangria and lemon tea)

The priests dressed children for a choir

(white-robed small voices praise Him)

But found no joy in what was sung

The funeral had begun


In the middle of the day

When you drive home to your place

From that job that makes you sleep

Back to the thoughts that keep you awake


Long after night has come to claim

Any light that still remains

In the corner of the frame

That you put around her face.


Two pills just weren't enough.

The alarm clock's going off

But you're not waking up.

This isn't happening, happening, happening,

Happening, happening. It is.




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