When I was younger, I wish that I would have known better.
Better love makes a fat romance, that lasts for more than a shoe shine.
Iím older, took all the words of my mother, saying,
It could be worse, could be born with that disease, instead of catching it first.
So letís go back, to the first time, that I met you, in your Chevy, with your hands stretched,
crying, screaming, ďMercy. Mercy.Ē
But I know that, I was put here, to fight Vikings, in the cold war, with my arms out,
in the front
lines, singing, ďDare me. Dare me.Ē
But these things take time love.
These things take backbone.
And theyíll tell you what you want to hear ícause they think itís better. Better.
But you better know how to point out the liars.
Youíve got to weigh your wars make sure youíre not fighting for nothing. Nothing.
Are you fighting for nothing?
It feels like this world has been growing slowly upside down.
Maybe I should move to China, and straighten this mess out.
Maybe Iíll be a poet.
Watch all the sky for falling words.
And write about my grandmaís curtains, or the lady who put the Chinese buffet in her purse.
Iíve got my mouth. Itís a weapon. Itís a bombshell.
Itís a cannon. Iíve got my words.
I wonít give them mercy. Mercy.
Iíve got my words. I hope they hurt you.
I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you.
I hope they cut you open, make you see youíve been warring for all the wrong reasons.
Make you see that some things are worth bruising for.
Make you see that your name is your honor code.
Make you see that your hands youíre accounted for.
Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go.
Make you see your lifeís not to be lived alone.
Run their spit through your hair, youíre worth nothing. Nothing.