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Grace

de Written to Speak

My mother would have my head if she knew what I did
She'd have my head if she knew what I did

You were the opposite of elegance
With a trace left of me on your fingertips
A compromise of body and mind for you
And everything that I'd been taught turned
As black as the hair on the back of your arm
Your olive skin retreated again that night

So I sat in my car with my head on the dash
Waiting for this to pass

My mother would have my head if she knew what I did
She'd have my head if she knew what I did

Visions of you from three nights
Before haunted me as a slipped out the door
My rotten judgment rose above me once again
I spun in my stool hoping that you
Would give me the attention I was accustomed to
But it never came, you stayed the same
Selfish, unkind and still in my way

We found ourselves tangled up in words we didn't mean
I'm guilty too, but somehow everything meant more to me

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