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Paper Butterflies
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(another old one) if you're a manic-depressive alcoholic, this is your lullaby. i never cared for sensical modulations.
acoustic emo indierock michelle cat power michelle rogers mychelle rogers mychelle
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gloomy, pretty, unrefined, valium-speed chick rock
my first reviewer called it "a foundation for a dark, shadowy rock opera that someone would listen to while drinking a bottle of wine and contemplating jumping off a bridge". she wouldn't tell me whether or not they'd jump.
Song Info
Genre
Alternative • Indie
Charts
#16,617 today Peak #201
#3,278 in subgenre Peak #41
Author
Michelle Rogers
Rights
Michelle Rogers
Uploaded
November 26, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.5 MB • 128 kbps • 4:55
Story behind the song
a bottle of red wine
Lyrics
By the way, we’re bound to repeat the same mistakes. So when winter rushes in with its portable penance in hand and you find yourself in the first frost trapped in the foreign land called home and your muses are in your hands and your wife still lives in your bones, could you have loved less than them all? We were just staying out of the cold. I came in gifted. I came in soaking from a baptismal blood bath of thick lavish fortune. I woke up in strands of genetic makeup and now I’m stranded here hanging from it. They’re throwing paperweights at my indecision. I’m taking time to consider the view. We’re paper butterflies on hot roofs of buildings. The moon rinses dye from the white-winged few. We’re not documents. Fuck your fine print. Your steel blue ink spilled into my bed. I’m made of glass. I have not been careful. Spaces flash… missing… where the beads fell and shattered. I still evolve where I’m broken, a digital code rewritten. Blood red numerals blink like scars, stuck on the chromosome that defects my heart. A chain of beauty stretched to the stars. It was a bridge and I was a girl and I had a map to the top of the world. I am a lost heirloom, itchy wrists bound in DNA jewels. I can’t believe these vines would choke me; they’re my own roots.
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