"A Stone" By Okkervil River
"Hot breath, rough skin, warm laughs and smiling,
the loveliest words, whispered and meant-you like
all these things. But, though you like all these things,
you love a stone. You love a stone because it's smooth
and it's cold. And you'd love most to be told that it's all
your own. You love white veins, you love hard grey,
the heaviest weight, the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell,
hollowest tone-you love a stone. And I'm found too fast,
called too fond of flames, and then I'm phoning my friends,
and then I'm shouldering the blame, while you're picking
pebbles out of the drain, miles ago. You're out
singing songs, and I'm down shouting names at
the flickerless screen, going fucking insane. Am I
losing my cool, overstating my case? Well, baby,
what can I say? You know I never claimed that I
was a stone. And you love a stone. You love white
veins, you love hard grey, the heaviest weight,
the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell, the
hollowest tone-you love a stone. You love
a stone, because it's dark, and it's old, and if
it could start being alive you'd stop living
alone. And I think I believe that, if stones could
dream, they'd dream being laid side-by-side,
piece-by-piece, and turned into a castle for some
towering queen they're unable to know. And when
that queen's daughter came of age, i think
she'd be lovely and stubborn and brave, and
suitors would journey from kingdoms away to make
themselves known. And I think that I know the
bitter dismay of a lover who brought fresh
bouquets every day when she turned him away to
remember some knave who once gave just one rose,
one day, years ago..."
Sam
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