I don't know whether to laugh or cryAnd i don't know
whether to live or dieI kept my love for her locked deep
insideIt cuts like a knifeShe's out of my lifeOut of my
life, out of my hairOut of my mind, there's no love in
thereI move on, move onDear god, i wasn't breast fedAnd
most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around
musicI'm no musician but the pain has been instrumentalMy
sense finally tune the instruments ofOf being lonely, of being
lost, of being loved, of being humanMan i could use a metaphor
but i can't get beyond this shitI could use someone to talk
toBut most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around
musicI am a poet who composes what the world prosesAnd proses
what the world composesI am a poet who composes what the world
prosesAnd proses what the world composesDamned indescion and
cursed prideI kept my love for her locked deep insideAnd i
don't know what to doTo get it through to youGet out of my
life tonightGet out of my lifeOut of my life, out of my hairOut
of my mind, 'cause no lovin' fairI move on, move onShe
had nothing but time on her handsSilver rings, turquoise stones
and purple nailsI rub my thumb across her palmA featherbed where
slept a psalmYay though i walked, i used to fly, and now we
danceI watch my toenails blacken and walk a deadened
trance'til she woke me with the knife edge of her glanceI
have the scars to prove the clock strikes with her handsAnd i
don't know what to doTo get it through to youAnd i
don't know what to doTo get it throughOut of my life, out
of my hairOut of my mind, 'cause no lovin' fairI move
on, move on, i move on
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