I know a girl who only wears black,

	she says it's symbolic.

	I guess she's right: she's not often happy.

	One day, she got down on her knees,

	she said she'd never *really* believed

	but it's always a good time to try again

	and, anyway, when you're down on your knees

	you don't have so far to fall.



	One night she lay down to look at the stars

	and she didn't get up for a long time.

	She said: "well, I think I'm dying,

	I didn't have a happy thought today.

	I think I'm wasting away."

	And she shut her mouth tight,

	retreating within her head 

	where the birds don't sing anymore,

	just rattle around inside like old bones.



	I remember that girl well,

	though her image is always blurred.

	She used to talk to me on days when it would rain

	and we'd both pretend that we were warm.

	She was the voice inside my head 

	and she said: "Pluck out the feathers one by one

	we're all drowning, girl, and you can never 

	drag yourself up from the bottom of the heap.

	We'd all like to think we're worth more than this,

	we don't deserve it and, of course, we're different.

	Like hell we are.



	You know, girl, there's just you

	on days when you can't see the sun there's just you.

	Break the stems on all the flowers, 

	paint your mouth in black and cruel

	and when they ask what's wrong pretend like you're dead.

	Don't you let them touch you anymore."



	Once, we sat together by the edge of the sea,

	she showed me how stones always sink

	and then she raised her arms to the sky and yelled:

	"Grow yourself a pair of wings, girl, and make them strong.

	You make damn sure they're strong."



	Now I've got my boots on,

	and I've got myself a good pair of wings

	but my heart's *so* heavy.



	She used to say: "You don't want to bother yourself with 

	something like that, girl, 

	hearts were made to be broken and thrown away."

	Then she prised the jagged pieces from my hands

	and scattered them to the winds.

	But my heart still so heavy and standing here

	all alone (she said we always are, girl, we always are)

	I remember what she once told me 

	when we were walking:



	She admitted she was tired.

	"Girl," She said, "These old bones ache

	and I think the wind's turning to the west."

	She pointed to the skyline

	where the black clouds gathered low

	and she shuddered.

	"I'm tired of this, this storm's yours, girl"

	and she pushed me stumbling forwards.



	When I started to protest

	there were no words.



	She was laughing low, she said:

	"Girl, you're the beginning and the end,

	you're not part of this, don't fool yourself.

	I've seen you look at the fire like you wanted it

	but that's not for you.

	And, girl, if you think you're scared now,

	wait. Don't start believing it gets better,

	let me tell you,

	some days all I see is black."

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