Married, moved, and getting it together.

Working the Wound: by stew (lyrics) 2006 Oct 26

Everyday I build a mask
Up to the task
But now there’s no real me

Call me a collage
Of spare parts found in Berlin’s garage
But there’s no real me

I cut clippings from my dreams
And move them around till they look like me
But there’s no real me

My paste-on eyes can see right through
All of you
But you don’t see me

Josephine entertained
They’d laughed and swooned
All she had was her pain
Carefully tuned

Boy was she was without shame
So elegantly marooned
The mask was just her band-aid
She worked the wound

I finally found a home
Between the clicks of a metronome
Now there’s no real me

I went out on a limb
But the tree disappeared and the sky grew dim
Now there’s no real me

My pain entertains
I see you applaud
Thanking God you’re sane
Now woe is me

I’m cursed to entertain
You laugh and swoon
All I have is my pain
Sharp and in tune
And should I feel ashamed since I’m still here marooned
No one else can be blamed
For me working the wound
I’m still working the wound
I’m still working the wound
I’m still working the wound

(stew’s blogpassing strange: now playing at the berkeley repertory theatre)

Joe Crawford blogged this at 8:22pm in 2006 in October. The 26th was a Thursday. You are reading this 13 years later. Comment. There are no comments Tweet. Send email. It has no hastags.

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