Bye Bye Miss American Pie
A long long time agoI can still remember howThat music used to make me smileAnd I knew if I had my chanceThat I could make those people danceAnd maybe they'd be happy for a while...I want to make people happy.I want these words to make them smile.I want to be that girl, just for a little while,I can't rhyme forever, it won't last,But for a moment it's a blast.
I ate the american pie for dessert and felt like throwing it up,i don't have bulimia but i tried it when i was 14,I couldn't physically make myself throw up, it just didn't happen.I ate too many cookies, mini chocolate chip cookies and I had just lost some weight,so i tried to throw up in the toilet.I believe at that moment, the universe intervened and made sure that I could not do it.I would have become a bulimic I think.You dodge bullets in life.I was a lonely teenage broncin' buckWith a pink carnation and a pickup truckBut I knew I was out of luckThe day the music diedI wanted to be a psychologist until my friend who was suicidal told me her problems.Honestly, I can't listen to people with the intensity needed by a therapist.I couldn't listen to her depths of misery.Buddhists say life is suffering.Did you write the book of loveAnd do you have faith in God aboveIf the Bible tells you so?Do you believe in rock and roll?Can music save your mortal soul?And can you teach me how to dance real slow?I wrote a book no one's read,I do have faith...in something...in everything...I don't know when I became myself, or even if I am myself. Am I nina?Who is nina? nina hides behind her computer and her words.Behind her selfies there's no self. She can talk a good game, but it's a show sometimes.I want to really talk sometimes. I want to tell you how broken I am. I have been abused by life.I mean it knocked me around quite a bit. Can you relate?Now I'm coming home. I only have one home.I don't think we have a soul inside us, I think we are inside a soul.I think it is like a balloon all around us. I have decided to nest in my soul.And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and ryeSingin' this'll be the day that I dieThis'll be the day that I dieI don't want to die. I mean ever.sometimes I don't want to live forever eitherisn't there a place in-between?not that i want to end it all. but i get tired of living every day.I mean you get up in the morning and you have to live.I only die in my sleep. Sleep is not death, just practice.I had a dream...I have a dream...that one day people will all sit together,I mean the whole fucking world will stop for one minute every day at the same time and breathe.A moment of silence. So we can hear the universe talk. It doesn't always get a voice.I wonder what it will say?Oh, and there we were all in one placeA generation lost in spaceWith no time left to start againSo come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quickJack Flash sat on a candlestick'Cause fire is the devil's only friendI dream...in color and...sometimes i want to press the delete button on my past.I maybe, I could cut and paste it so it reads better.I almost said fuck you to a police officer once.I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy newsBut she just smiled and turned awayI went down to the sacred storeWhere I'd heard the music years beforeBut the man there said the music wouldn't playyou can't break pandora like you can break a juke box.You can't stop the internet. Even for a moment. So we can all breathe.We are not people we are machines without pocketsWe are flawed, flawed fakersAnd in the streets, the children screamedThe lovers cried and the poets dreamedBut not a word was spokenThe church bells all were brokenI need to scream, but I have to schedule it. I don't have time. I don't have time to be me.I have to be a robot in the rainlosing all it's power.You can't turn me off, you can't turn me onI'm neither here, nor there.Bye, bye Miss American PieDrove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dryAnd them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and ryeSingin' this'll be the day that I dieThis'll be the day that I dieThere was a bomb in the american carthat was really made in mexicobecause we don't like our own handsour footprints are in the sandsour feet are standing but we are notwe sit, we wait, we sleep we dreamwe are always talking in betweenthe lines are blurry our faces are fatthere is no worry, this is this, and that is thatthere are people who can't scream,so I scream for themAnd the three men I admire mostThe Father, Son and the Holy GhostThey caught the last train for the coastThe day the music diedMy keyboard is a pianoI sing from hereI'm out of tunethere is not harmonywhere are my socks?These are the buildings,These are the blogs.nina