Ani Difranco

you tell me how
does it make you feel?
you tell me
what’s real?
and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they’re as dry as my lips for years
even when they’re stranded on a small desert island
with no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder
is he different?
is he different?
has he changed? what’s he about?…
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?
am i headed for the same brick wall
is there anything i can do about
anything at all?
except go back to that corner in manhattan
and dig deeper, dig deeper this time
down beneath the impossible pain of our history
beneath unknown bones
beneath the bedrock of the mystery
beneath the sewage systems and the path train
beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
beneath everything i can think of to think about
beneath it all, beneath all get out
beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
there’s a fire just waiting for fuel