| the slant
|
| a building settling around me my figure, female, framed crookedly
|
| in the threshold of the room
|
| door scraping floorboards
|
| with every opening
|
| carving a rough history of bedroom scenes
|
| the plot hard to follow
|
| the text obscured
|
| in the fields of sheets
|
| slowly gathering the stains
|
| of seasons spent lying there
|
| red and brown
|
| like leaves fallen
|
| the colors of an eternal cycle
|
| fading with the wash cycle
|
| and the rinse cycle
|
| again an unfamiliar smell
|
| like my name misspelled
|
| or misspoken
|
| a cycle broken
|
| the sound of them strong
|
| stalking talking about their prey
|
| like the way hammer meets nail
|
| pounding, they say
|
| pounding out the rhythms of attraction
|
| like a woman was a drum like a body was a weapon
|
| like there was something more they wanted
|
| than the journey
|
| like it was owed to them
|
| steel toed they walk
|
| and i’m wondering why this fear of men
|
| maybe it’s because i’m hungry
|
| and like a baby i’m dependent on them to feed me i am a work in progress
|
| dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding
|
| offering me intricte patterns of questions
|
| rhythms that never come clean
|
| and strengths that you still haven’t seen
|
| I’m calling from the diner
|
| the diner on the corner
|
| I ordered two coffees
|
| one is for you
|
| I was hoping you’d join me
|
| 'cause I ain’t go no money
|
| and I really miss you
|
| I should mention that too
|
| yes I know what time it is in fact, I just checked
|
| I even know the date
|
| and the month
|
| and the year
|
| I know I haven’t been sleeping
|
| and when I do
|
| I just dream of you
|
| dear
|
| I miss watching you
|
| drool on your pillow
|
| I miss watching you
|
| pull on your clothes
|
| I miss listening
|
| to you in the bathroom
|
| flushing the toilet
|
| blowing your nose
|
| I’m calling from the diner
|
| the diner on the corner
|
| I ordered two coffees
|
| one is for you
|
| the cups are so close
|
| the steam is rising
|
| in one stream
|
| how are you
|
| I think you’re the least fucked up person I’ve ever met
|
| and that may be as close to the real thing
|
| as I’m ever gonna get
|
| but my quarter’s gonna run out now
|
| or so I’m told
|
| I guess I’d better go sit down
|
| and wait for you
|
| til my coffee gets cold |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Slant/The Diner , by - Ani DiFranco. Song from the album Living In Clip, in the genre Иностранная авторская песня