So be it, I'm your crowbar
If that's what I am so far
Until you get out of this mess
And I will pretend
That I don't know of your sins
Until you are ready to confess
But all the time, all the time
I'll know, I'll know

She had much to say, but instead she listened. She knew how he could talk for hours about himself, so much he had to say. Some of it meant something, but when she let him talk too long, he was want to ramble. He tried to listen, but she would only offer little clues, littering the place where their two roads joined, became one for a while, and then diverged in the wood. Something in her words told a story, a story with so many missing pieces, and he tried to unfold the pages of her book, but they tended to stick together. There was light. There was darkness. Mostly, though, there was a lot of dancing with shadows. He was intrigued. He was willing to wait, and in the meantime, he was all too willing to talk. She listened. She waited. The sky kept changing from blue to black.

And you can use my skin
To bury secrets in
And I will settle you down
And at my own suggestion,
I will ask no questions
While I do my thing in the background
But all the time, all the time
I'll know, I'll know

They were fighting all over town. They were arguing particulars, trying to determine who was right and who was wrong. They were willing to be the hangman jury, but no one was clean enough to throw the first stone. She stayed in the background and watched with a limited scale of amusement while he lounged on his ivory stepladder and wondered why any of them thought they were without sin. He drank a toast to their madness and watched them tear each other to pieces. She wondered what kind of questions he might ask, so he held back and waited for the questions to form themselves. He gave her his ear and told her stories he thought might somehow be relevant. She smiled through it all, waiting for the riots to start, but they never would. No one had the courage to throw the stones they held so tightly in their hands. They knew how to threaten and how to express anger, but did not know how to follow through. It was better that way. She smiled his way again and the night wore on.

Baby, I can't help you out, while she's still around
So for the time being, I'm being patient
And amidst this bitterness
If you'll just consider this, even if it don't make sense
All the time, give it time
And when the crowd becomes your burden
And you've early closed your curtains,
I'll wait by the backstage door

There were those who danced around with their own definitions. They labelled things like "love" and "faith" and "truth" without understanding the consequences of what they proposed. They ran from their own imagination and contained their own hearts on a rack of notions. They did not know how far their own wings could carry them. The mob gathered and then dispersed. They were forgiven, because they did not understand what they did. Their petty arguments and their selfish demands for compensation undid them, untied them and left them unglued. They had lost the path.

While you try to find the lines to speak your mind
And pry it open, hoping for an encore
And if it gets too late, for me to wait
For you to find you love me, and tell me so
It's ok, don't need to say it.

They would defy gravity, because they gave gravity no quarter. They did not need the selfish definitions and demands of the mob. They were their own peace. No one needed to define this. It could exist without definition.

Sometimes it is easier to talk about the mob
And things that mean next to nothing
We find the comfort zone
When more might be better
We find safety in less

Goodnight, Gracie.

Lyrics by Fiona Apple
"I Will" as appears on "When The Pawn..."
Copyright 1999 FHW Music
Used without permission