It's as simple, and as loaded, and as rich, and as full, and as
imagined as hearing your dream out loud.
There are a lot of people who malign the Grammys. They come in all
colors, professions, and ages. They'll tell you the awards aren't
punk enough and that they're too young; that they're rigged for
established artists and that they only go to those whose faces are
plastered on supermarket aisle magazines. Some will even tell you
they'd mimic Fiona Apple if they were ever offered one.
I just wished they had seen Amy Winehouse's face. I don't cry often,
but it made me. And I'm not happy often, but it made me.
And I wish I had more ways to describe it. But I don't. Because it
was a look I'm still dreaming about. I'm mad at me for still being in
the dreaming stage. But I'll fix that. Because if it means I get to
have the same look of due surprise and exhilaration, then I'd be
wasting my time here not to.
A picture's worth a thousand words when it's more than just an image.
but when she laughs
you see what she hides
even chameleons let their guards down once or twice
she thinks these urban shadows are where she's meant to be
but there's no disguise that's fooling me
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