Slowdive
I thought i heard you whisper

The sunshine girl is sleeping
She falls and dreams alone
And me I am her dagger
To numb to feel her pain

The world is full of noise yeah
I hear it all the time
And me I am your dagger
You know I am your world
(you know i am your wound)

I thought I heard you whisper
It happens all the time
I thought I heard you whisper
It happens all the time

She whispers while I'm sleeping
I love you when you smile
I didn't really lose you
I just lost it for a while

The world is full of noise yeah
I hear it all the time
You know I am your dagger
You know I am your wound
I thought I heard you whisper
It happens all the time
I thought I heard you whisper
It happens all the time 

The Stranger
The meaninglessness of human life

Marie came that evening and asked me if I’d marry her. I said I didn’t mind; if she was keen on it, we’d get married.
Then she asked me again if I loved her. I replied, much as before, that her question meant nothing or next to nothing—but I supposed I didn’t.
“If that’s how you feel,” she said, “why marry me?”
I explained that it had no importance really, but, if it would give her pleasure, we could get married right away. I pointed out that, anyhow, the suggestion came from her; as for me, I’d merely said, “Yes.”

Then she remarked that marriage was a serious matter.
To which I answered: “No.”
She kept silent after that, staring at me in a curious way. Then she asked:
“Suppose another girl had asked you to marry her—I mean, a girl you liked in the same way as you like me—would you have said ‘Yes’ to her, too?”
“Naturally.”

Then she said she wondered if she really loved me or not. I, of course, couldn’t enlighten her as to that. And, after another silence, she murmured something about my being “a queer fellow.” “And I daresay that’s why I love you,” she added. “But maybe that’s why one day I’ll come to hate you.”
To which I had nothing to say, so I said nothing.
She thought for a bit, then started smiling and, taking.

Titus Andronicus 
The Airing Of Grievances

Why do you do the things you've done
and how dumb would you have to be
to do them again like I know you're going to?
If you're the poet you say you are and beauty's in everything you see,
then how can love exist in a world run by people like you?
Because when there's suffering, you're there.
From southern trees, you hang them in the air.
The world screams out in agony and you don't care,
but should the shit hit the fan,
I just pray you will not be spared.
Fuck you.

You took a heart with so much room for love
and filled it with hatred and rage
until there was nothing left but for it to shrivel up and die.

People will tell you that if you don't love your neighbor, then you don't love God,
but no god of mine would put light in such unrighteous eyes.
Now the way we hold each other so tight
would look more like a noose if held up to the light because we betray each other in dreams every night.
Now let's never speak of it again, all right?

The Perks of Being A Wall Flower
I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X's and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint
And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question" because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed or even talked
And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen.