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lyrics
there is a woman
and they call her pulmona lisa
she don't talk too much
but she smiles and she
brea-ea-ea-ea-eathes
she takes deep breaths in
and out, and while the
people break their backs trying to
get round obstacles
she floats effortless-
ly over them on a
trail
of
bubbles
i met a boy hiding in a mailbox, i said "what are you hiding from?"
he said, he wasn't sure, he said
"my amygdala has final say over EVERYTHING i do, so
i stay out of the way of the happy confident people so they don't ask me
questions."
they asked me if i was a trypophobic
and they showed me some pictures...
(!!!g34r6ta#$^&E!)
but a hand or an indigo child could bring me to tears
they said, "there must be something wrong here"
and showed me some more...
(@#&^ERDF@E*&DG!!)
but they never once got to the deepest part of my fears...
anyway:
that woman, the one they call pulmona lisa,
think i'd like to try to be her
and live underneath
what people consider to be sanity (sharp and sanitary)
like foxes and bugs and cats living in trashcans know,
that it's never too late
to be
loved