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Gypsy Girl
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Saul Williams
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1
And she doesn't want to press charges
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My yellow cousin
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Ghost of a gypsy
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Drunk off the wine of pressed grapes
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Repressed screams
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Of sun shriveled raisins
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And their dreams
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Interrupted
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By a manhood deferred
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Will she ever sober?
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Or will they keep handing her glasses overflowing
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With the burden of knowing
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I never knew
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Never knew it could haunt me
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The ghost of a little girl in the desolate mansion
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Of my manhood
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I'm a man now
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And then
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I remember that I have been charged
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One million volts of change
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Will the ghost of that little girl ever meet my little girl
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She's one now
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She must have been three then
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Maybe four
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She's eighteen now
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I'm twenty-five now
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I must have been twelve then
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My mother said he was in his forties
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And she's not pressing charges
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Although she's been indicted
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And I can't blame her
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I can't calm her
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I want to calm her
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I want to call him names
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But only mine seem to fit
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"Come on, let's see if it fits"
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Two little boys with a magic marker marked her
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"They put it in me"
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"No we didn't, what are you talking about?"
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"It's not permanent, It'll come out when you wash it"
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Damn, maybe it was permanent
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I can't forget
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And I hope she doesn't remember
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Maybe Magic marked her
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Lord, I hope he don't pull no dead rabbit out of that hat
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What ya gonna do then?
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And what was Mary's story?
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The story of a little girl with a brother and a couch
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She's got a brother
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A couch
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A sister locked in her bedroom
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And a mother on vacation
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Lord, don't let her fall asleep
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Her brother's got keys to her dreams
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He keeps them on a chain
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That now cuffs his wrists together
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Mommy doesn't believe he did it
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But he's left footprints on the insides of his sister's eyelids
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And they've learned to walk without him and haunt her daily prayers
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And if you rub your fingers
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Ever so softly on her inner thigh
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She'll stop you
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Having branded your fingertips
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With the footprints of her brother
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The disbelief of her mother
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And a sister who called her a slut for sleeping
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Lord, I've known sleeping women
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Women who have slept for lives at a time
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On sunny afternoons and purple evenings
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Women who sleep sound
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And live silently
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Some dreams never to be heard of again
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I've known sleeping women
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They've taught me to sleep having swallowed the moon
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Sleep till mid afternoon
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And yearn for the silence of night
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Too sleep sound once again
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Painters of the wind
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Who know to open the window?
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Before closing their eyes
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Finding glory in the palette of their dreams
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She had no dreams that night
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The windows had been closed
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The worlds of her subconscious suffocated and bled
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Rivers of unanticipated shivers and sounds
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That were not sleep
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She was sound asleep
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And he came silently
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It wasn't the sun in her eyes
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Nor the noise of children en route to school
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She woke to the rays of an ingrown sun
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Fungus that stung more than it burned
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A saddened school en route to children
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Who dare to sleep on a couch
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Exposed to their schizophrenic brother
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Only to wake with a new personality
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One that doesn't trust as much as it used to
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And wears life jackets into romantic relationships
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Can't stand the touch of fingertips
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Damn, was that marker permanent
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I hope she doesn't press charges
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I hope they don't press no more grapes into wine
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Because she might get drunk again
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And fall asleep
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Rise and shine my mother used to say
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Pulling back the clouds of covers that warmed our nights
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But the fleshy shadows of that moonless night
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Stored the venom in its fangs to extinguish the sun
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Rise and shine
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But how can I?
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When I have crusted cloud configurations pasted to my thighs
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And snow covered mountains
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In my memories
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They peak into my daily
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And structure my moment
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They hide in the corners of my smile
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And in the shadows of my laughter
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They've stuffed my pillows with over exposed reels of ABC after school specials
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And the feathers of woodpeckers
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That have bore hollows into the rings of time
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That now ring my eyes
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And have stumped the withered trunk of who I am
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I must remember
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My hands have been tied behind the back of another day
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If only I could have them long enough to dig up my feet
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Which have been planted beneath the soiled sheets
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Of a harvest that only hate could reap
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I keep trying to forget
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But I must remember
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And gather the scattered continents
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Of a self once whole
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Before they plant flags
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And boundary my destiny
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Push down the warted mountains that blemish the soiled soul
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Before the valleys of my conscience get the best of me
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I'll need a passport just to simply reach the rest of me
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A vaccination
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For a lesser Gods bleak history.
David Brent - Lady Gypsy: Official Music...
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