and the cover of the nme

"but for the cum in your hair,
the cocaine on your teeth,
you'd be just like the girls,
that i kissed on the heath.
your mother left and you're all alone,
and the world is at your feet,
you smell like ash, mildew and hash,
can barely even speak.

and it's so sad that you're so sad,
and you're so bad for me.
i followed your perfume as you ran down the street.
i caught you and held you and pushed back your fringe,
and swore undying loyalty.
we'll make a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,

you and me.

i followed you home,
knocked at your door,
offered myself in the kitchen,
then passed out on the floor.
and when you shout, i get terrified,
and then i love you more.
you sound middle class,
but I'll let it pass,
i don't understand you at all.

and it's so sad that you're so sad,
and you're so bad for me.
i swallowed my pride with a pill and decided to give you back your key.
you caught me and held me,
and i took your hand and swore undying loyalty.
we'll make a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,

you and me.

under the covers forever,
everything well within reach.
a small price to pay for our freedom,
and for our celebrity.
such ornaments and gorgeous things,
like string lights at the beach.
intensive care and conditioned air,
and our faces on tv.

and it's so sad but they're so glad,
that you're so bad for me.
the dark days ahead and the blood on the bed,
and the cover of the nme.
they gave us a cheque and took us by our necks,
and swore undying loyalty.
we'll make a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,
a new art for the people,
you and me."

every so often i stumble upon a song that i just cannot stop listening to, even if it cuts deep beneath my surfaces. things you understand in ways you may not want to understand, and hurts that you try to run from, and forget. and yet you feel it, in-between the notes, or in the trade off of voices, the lyrical refrains. so, what do i do? i listen again, as if picking at a sore that never seems to heal. one part the girl i once was, one part the things i see now. i'm not so sure i want to get this song in the ways that i get this song.

and i hit replay, again, and take it for what it is. a new art for the people, yeah? because the people just want blood and magazine covers, and love that is nothing but bad for each other. misery loves company, and fame, doesn't it? and yet i want to be a writer who finds art in happiness, in hope, and in love that heals. it is just the way i choose to see the world.