Lyra Lyrics

Oh Alice, 

I can see what they did. 

How they dressed you up in white lace and dead butterflies and told you to sit still.  

They adorned your hair with wilting primrose and hung a Scarlett veil upon your face. 

Handed you a mango pit and told you to be silent. 

I feel your ache as a lonely, growing thing. 

We inherit the French books and baggage of the centuries. 

You never looked pretty, rather real. A body of scars and sprouted strawberries tangible in this era of mist.  

I suppose I could tell you my secrets. 

Like the old piano and the boy who drank the sun.

Perhaps I could tell you how absurd and delicate the days are. 

Perhaps I could ask you about rainy afternoons and botanical dreams. 

I wonder if you would know the answers.  

Dusk swirls and sits on my tongue. 

You tell me, “This is the strangest life I have ever known” 

And I suppose it is.  

The silence speaks and sugar water cures the growing pains.