life,
mama told me it wouldn't always be good,
and that i should avoid being misunderstood,
do whatever i can, wear a bracelet of wood,
crawl to a cliff and there i stood,
for so many days then countless moons,
seen so many loons that i know their tunes,
standing over the blackened lagoon,
my hands tied up by three red balloons.
balloons are red to tie my arms,
and make me a woman with motherly charms,
balloons are red to keep me still,
and prevent me from sleeping and falling off the hill.
"untie me" i say with no forced will,
but the words squeeze out, the words i kill,
with little skill,
i might as well be misunderstood,
between could and should and would,
life, it wouldn't always be good
but at least i have three red balloons
and a pretty bracelet of wood.
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