small town girl's blues

and if i should write my memories, they would be streams of blank pages stapled together by crushed bones and twisted clutches. small town girl, naïve and willing to believe that the world can be a better place. life's no textbook with children learning to fish and getting along with their parents and neighbors. if it was a colour, it would be crimson. a country, Brazil. because as long as there's music, she can forget about all the wrong things in her life. all the wrong moves taken. all the beds where she shouldn't have slept. all the men that shouldn't have taken her. the soul she shouldn't have lost somewhere along the way down the whirling well. i never wanted to come to this. never wanted you to come along. i loved you just the same. but i've hated myself everyday of your life. for bringing you down with me. i wish i could open the lock of the cage we're in, so that you can have the chance to spread the wings they gave you. the one's that everyone has so eagerly clipped. mocking you. killing me.

why write my memories? i'm nothing but a small town girl, naïve and without will to believe...