� The story � 2002-05-13 � 5:22 p.m. �
~I would have returned your greeting... if it weren't for the way you were looking at me...
This street is not a market and I am not a commodity.... and don't you find it sad that we can't even say hello? 'Cuz you're a man and I am a woman.. and the sun is getting low...
And there are some places I can't go.. as a woman I can't go there and as a person I don't care... I don't go for the "hey baby what's your name?" and I'd like go alone thank you, just the same.
I am up again against the skin of my guitar and the window of my life looking out to the bars... I am sounding out the silence, avoiding all the words... i am afraid I've said too much, I'm afraid of who has heard me.
And my father he told me the story and it was true... for his time. But now the story is different.. maybe I should tell him mine...
All the girls line up here, all the boys on the other side... I see your angsts are advancing, I see mine are left behind.
I am up again against the skin of my guitar and the window of my life looking out to the bars... I am sounding out the silence, avoiding all the words... i am afraid I can never say enough.... I'm afraid no one has heard me.
Despite all the balls I've been thrown and forced to drop... on the social totem pole I am preciously close to the top... They put you in your place and they tell you to behave but no one can be free until we're all on even green.
And I would have returned your greeting if it weren't for the way you were looking at me.~
This was given as a gift from a friend... it smelled of him... of his car... it reminded me that distance didn't make us grow apart... just meant miles between us... someone else said it would heal me... and i guess, in ways it has...
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