Throwing Muses

Hate My Way

I could be a smack freak
And hate society
I could hate God
And blame Dad
I might be in a Holocaust
Hate Hitler
Might not have a child
And hate school
I could be a sad lover
And hate death
I could be a neuro
And hate sweat
No
I hate my way

I make you in to a song
I can't rise above the church
I'm caught in a jungle
Vines tangle my hands
I'm always so hot and it's hot in here
I say it's all right

My pillow screams too
But so does my kitchen
And water
And my shoes
And the road

I have a gun in my head
I'm invisible
I can't find the ice

A slug
I'm TV
I hate

A boy, he was tangled in his bike forever
A girl was missing two fingers
Gerry Ann was confused
Mr. Huberty
Had a gun in his head

So I sit up late in the morning
And ask myself again
How do they kill children?
And why do I want to die?
They can no longer move
I can no longer be still

I hate
My way

Vicky's Box

He
Won't ride
In cars any more
It reminds him of
Blow jobs
That he's a queer
And his hair
Stuck to the roof, over the wheel
Like a pigeon on a tyre
Goes around
And circles over circles
And he's a queer
And his hair
On the roof
Like a pigeon
Goes around
Says he's a man
And his eyes
And his hair
And his eyes
Say he's a man
He won't ride any more
He won't ride any more
He won't ride any more
Home is a rage
Feels like a cage
Home is what you read
How you breathe
Home is how you live
I feel boxed in
I feel boxed in
I feel boxed in
Think I'll be all right
Home is where the heart lies
The heart lies
The hard lies
Welcome home

It's under the strangle of winter
I only love pieces of things that I hate
Like this box, this piece of room
I can't grasp, can't see true
A piece of past
Days like today
Like a decade alone
Painful to remember like today
I've been here another year, another day
Oh so waving flags and jazz [?!]
Girl you complain
To kiss the rotten broken knee
You may be dreaming
You may be bleeding
You may be in this box
A kitchen is a place
Where you prepare and
And clean up
Clean up



Throwing Muses (1986)