the hardest part about having a music box heart is deciding which melodies to play/ i long to hold 16 gigs and play every weeping willow ballad ever written, every riff and run of travailing prayer in your garden of gethsemene/ when you asked God to take the pain away, to remove this cup from your hands, i heard you/ and, if i could, i would take every cup from you/ take them back like shots of hard liquor, if it meant it would keep you from stumbling through this life in a drunken stupor of struggle/ let me be your drinking buddy/ i will match you shot for shot, treble clefts & half notes of sorrow until my heart is just as full, if not, overflowing-- i was created for this/ with this ironman music box heart, let me hold your muse/ we were made friends by divine incident, sisters by holy convocation-- it was not meant for you to be alone/ this piece was not meant to be a solo but an ensemble/ so let me accompany you/ and, because i'm selfish, i will steal the show, snatch the mic from your hand in a drunken rage and no one will notice when you leave the stage free/ i will let them crucify me/ so when your heart comes near to bursting and your weeping willow ballads begin to crescendo, allow me to wrap my arms around you/ let the steady bass of my esperanza spalding heart keep you, drown out all that seeks to paralyze you/ and we will sway to these sad songs together/ the drunken dance of the depressed and downtrodden/ and though disparity and displacement be our muse, i will not let them take you under/ i will hold on for dear life, for your life/ and i promise, i will not let your heart break.
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