Her mother was a Stage Mom – Vietnam. Napalm.
Stayed calm vicariously sane bomb game’s on
Same song ringing in my brain Wrong Things
Living shame Strong strings attached to the past bring
The passionate accidental flashes of her mother in her genes
Loud screams and I’m the only one who knows what that means
Demons attack those who know better than to believe
Nothing is free – not even trust in me – I’ve been deceived
By a wisp of possibility in a hurricane of pure distain
I’ve heard the strains of sirens – (I deserve the pain, you’re not insane)
Everything along the fault line has suffered damage
I can’t stand for this destruction but I’m too fucked up to manage
Try to understand the planet is populated by people
Who just do the best they can and that we construct a sense of evil
To hide from confrontation, contemplation, constant hatred
Monster nature, constipated consequence of consecration
In defence of a creation of the state of mind heredity
You’ll never get the best of me. You haven’t got the weaponry.
Say Rest in Peace, play Let It Be, and turn the keys in to the keeper
Let the reaper do his work – DO NOT follow the leader
Let’s stop here for a breather; things are awkward in the theatre
As she mockingly repeats her, Mom’s a Nazi, she’s a teacher
I am neither hear me roar before a child of Plato’s cave
Who behaves this way each day without the faintest sense of place…
Can I erase the lines traced upon her face and taste compassion
The way she talks about it and not the way she puts it into action?
Can I crack that countenance with common sense and compliments?
I know what the problem is: The problem lies in confidence.
Mom launched her ship but stowed her garbage hidden in the hold
And now the hardest hand to fold is playing for her daughter’s soul
Control was always conquered by obnoxious conditionality
The principality is irrelevant. …and so is originality.


Sometimes the curtain rises and her eyes are shut a moment
She’s memorized the lines a thousand times, the lie is important
She holds it near her heart before she starts, remembers character
Breaks down the barriers that embarrass her – They cherish her
Knowing that the opening and the focusing of the lens
could be the end
Or the beginning, leaning forward as the orchestra suspends
A single note that ascends into crescendos once again
She explodes out of the spotlight, and then…
She moves strong like Tallulah with her wine glass
Time passes worn grooves along an overgrown path
It’s mathematical in its simplicity and in the depths of its veracity
What she does so casually maddens me
the majesty just saddens me
It’s too high a tower to climb and who am I?
I’m just some guy, barely getting by who got a ticket inside
Who once in, decides to reside beneath the stage
So that every night he gets another chance
to watch her slide from page to page
But there’s an orchestra pit and the music stands between us
And every show, I go knowing we’re toying with allegiance
Symbiosis of performances I’m riding every high
And feel it in my throat when she wants someone to die
And when she wants someone to cry there’s not a dry eye in the hall
She can make you feel small in the intensity of it all
And yet I know I’m not the only ghost who watches from the wings
There’s another one who stalks her and pulls upon the strings
Who brings her pretty flowers and holds her heart in a decrepit grip
Whispers words that slip through my love’s lips
So we exist, I the exorcist and she the greatest actress
The screaming frees the demons but they’re scheming to distract us
House lights fade. Blackness. And the curtain falls again
The crowd is moved and I am consumed, it never ends
I defend her but it kills me because in getting rid of ghosts
Sometimes you can’t help but hurt the host