My Skin

From the album Ophelia

Take a look at my body, look at my hands. There’s so much here that I don’t understand. Your face-saving promises whispered like prayers, I don’t need them. I’ve been treated so wrong; I’ve been treated so long as if I’m becoming untouchable.

Contempt loves the silence; it thrives in the dark with fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart. They say that promises sweeten the blow but I don’t need them. No, I don’t need them.

I’ve been treated so wrong; I’ve been treated so long as if I’m becoming untouchable. I’m the slow dying flower, frost-killing hour, the sweet turning sour and untouchable. I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness. I need this. I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel sweet love of my life. I need this.

Do you remember the way that you touched me before, all the trembling sweetness I loved and adored? Your face-saving promises whispered like prayers, I don’t need them. No, I don’t need them. I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness. I need this. I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel sweet love of my life. I need this.

Is it dark enough? Can you see me? Do you want me? Can you reach me? I’m leaving. You better shut your mouth, hold your breath, you kiss me now you’ll catch my death. I mean it.

Natalie Merchant / Indian Love Bride ©1998