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Alaskan Rain

Our tears fall like the Alaskan rain
Melting away the icicle walls our lives made
A jagged edged pain in my chest is making it harder to breathe everyday.
Is it a disease takin' over my soul?
Or is it something I do?


I can see in your eyes the descending bliss serious with the bitter taste of a jaded kiss,
I can see how the roses have died ,
In our garden of youth.


It hurts to be loved,
These are the mind's photographs called memories,
Yet the meaning I've drawn, is of loneliness.


It hurts to feel the confusion begin
From the empty glare in a lost pandemonium,
Yet the singular self closes in Bottled up, as Utopia takes control
When you're not paying attention to anything from this web of seclusion
I can see there's no cure.


My banished vanity, no one will notice
The clever control of an infectious mind,
No one will ever notice when, I become obsolete.


It hurts to be loved,
These are the mind's photographs called memories,
Yet the meaning I've drawn, is of loneliness.

Gina May Montel (ASCAP)
© 2007

 Gina in the Mission District, San Francisco
     
candy duo
Gina drumming on her boot.

Bowling Alley Prostitute


The men flock around her over-exposed product,
Like a swarm of flies surrounding a pile of shit.
Buying her the most costly glasses of alcohol available to impress her with the thought of a possible good night tip

If they’re lucky enough she’s a lightweight,
And maybe after the game their victory will be,
Her sucking mouth in the backseat of their broken down cars
Out in the dimly lit parking lot…..

Oh…There’s no guarantees. Oh…Can you feel her disease?

Bowling Alley Prostitue,
Smells of cheap cologne,
Drowning the scent of so many others,
So you think that you’re the only one.

You can pick her out from the crowd, in so many different ways.
Flashing her fake affections and the meat underneath her mini-skirt.
She doesn’t care too much for formal introductions,
Just as long as you slip her a twenty in her low cut shirt.

Oh…There’s no guarantees. Oh…Can you feel her disease?

(Repeat chorus)

Doesn’t it feel strange when she steals all your pocket change?
And disappears without a trace
Never to be seen or heard from again,
Hey look, she stole your last swig of Gin!

(Repeat chorus)


Gina May Montel (ASCAP)
© 2007

C9H13N


Running aimlessly around bound for something
Sometime but I’m not really sure of it
Does this amount to anything in the end,
Or will I regret the time spent without human contact?

Don’t have idle time to think about the consequence
The singular thing that drives the insanity
Is the vague possibility of becoming nothing but,
Can’t see tomorrow when your world is a clouded swirl today

Come deliver that momentary relief from
The weight of this heavy, haggard body
I can’t hold up existence no more, no more

My brain is a vacuum to lifes’ every distracting whim
But, Existentialism a belief that keeps me alive
The worlds’ gravity is crashing down below and
Pulling me to a new level I’ve never been before.

The half breaths, I painful take
Only purpose is awaiting the artificial lift,
The remaining is surrendering to the obsession
And letting it all cave in.

Minutes are hours left behind with nothing done
Distractions are everywhere eating away at my concentration
If I don’t make it, what’s the point of continuing?
If I can’t live my dreams, how can I live with myself?
How can I live with myself? Oh…

Running around aimlessly in circles, bound for something sometime, but
The days turn into years
I don’t know if the wasted energy was worth it cuz’ I’m looking twice my age,
With nothing to my name…

If my eyes don’t collapse, I might just book it all night
If I can make the white last, I won’t sleep again tonight
If I can’t make it, what’s the point of continuing?
If I can’t live my dreams, how can I live with myself?
How can I live with myself?

Gina May Montel (ASAP)
© 2007

 
Gina on the beach.
Gina Montel holding a snare drum.