You've got the sort of hands to rip me apart

And you fasten my seat belt because it is the law
In your two ton death trap I finally saw
A piece of love in your face that bathed me in regret
Then you drove me to places I'll never forget

There is room beneath your bed for me
There is room beneath your bed just for me
I will leave this town just to sleep underneath your bed
Just to sleep underneath your bed

Something tastes different, maybe it's my tongue
Something tastes different, suddenly I'm not so young

I'm just a stranger, even to myself
A re-arranger of the proverbial bookshelf
Don't be a fool girl, tell him you love him

I never thought I could love anyone but myself
Now I know I can't love anyone but you
You make me think that maybe I won't die alone
Maybe I won't die alone

I want to crawl back inside my mother's womb
I want to shut out all the lights in this room
I want to start fresh, like a baby in a sink

So life moves slowly when you're waiting for it to boil
Feel like I watch from 6 feet under the soil



All I've been listening to for the last two days is Ingrid Michaelson's album Girls and Boys.

I had the best weekend. I feel that February will be a long month. That is okay. Debris is falling from the construction site of the tallest building in lower manhattan right now and me and Kathleen are trapped here at school or leave and risk getting nailed with a piece of metal. All of my dead ends building up from the past year have been chopped off and my hair looks somewhat healthy again. I bought my tickets for Alkaline Trio and seeing them has honestly become my Spring tradition. I am really excited to see shitty love movies such as "Valentine's Day" and "Dear John." As for the actual day, I'm working at the cafe but we're baking heart shaped chocolate chip scones so I'll just stuff myself with those and that will have to be enough.






http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/science/19dogs.html?ref=science