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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Music · #2220875
Tell me what you've come for...
And it starts...


I go wild cause you break me open
Wild
'Cause you left me here
I go wild
'Cause your promises are broken

Wild because the chips are down
Wild because there isn't anybody else around
Wild when the waves start to break
And God knows they're breaking in me now

I go wild because it doesn't make sense
For me to cry out in my own defense
Wild because I would do anything
To tear you off your precious fence

So this is what it's like living in limbo
First I'm high then I'm so low

I go wild
'Cause you break me open
Wild
'Cause you left me here
I go wild
'Cause your promises are broken
Wild
When I know you're near
And I go wild
I go wild

Tell me what you've come for
Moving like a hunter through my back door
Leaving the perfume of all you adore
To die nameless on my floor

Yeah well we both know that you don't play fair
I guess you really think that you get me there
Let's be honest perhaps this little ride
Is too much for even you to bear

You've some nerve to come back here
You're not the only one who can smell fear

I go wild
'Cause you break me open
Wild
'Cause you left me here
I go wild
'Cause your promises are broken
Wild
Don't you get it dear
You're not the only one who runs on instincts
No I've got instincts of my own
You've got a lot of nerve to come back
Plan your attack yeah I am still waiting
(Did you want something?)
You wrote the rules to try to contain me
You broke 'em
Now you have untamed me
And I'm wild
I go wild

Tell me what you've come for
What is it you adore
Won't you tell me?
What would you cry for
Swallow all your pride for
What would you
Go wild for?

You've got a lot of nerve to come back here
Speak up my darling I have been waiting

I go wild
'Cause you break me open
Wild
'Cause you left me here
I go wild
'Cause your promises are broken
Wild
Don't you get it dear
You're not the only one who runs on instincts
No I've got instincts of my own
You've got a lot of nerve to come back
Plan your attack yeah I am still waiting
(Did you want something?)
You wrote the rules to try and contain me
You broke 'em
Now you have untamed me

And I'm wild

Wild...

Tell me what you've come for...

I go wild...
(Wild)

Like a hunter...

Tell me what you've come for...
(Come back here...)

La, da, da, da, da, da

Father: Communication is not just words. Communication is architecture. Because of course it is quite obvious that a house which would be built without the sense, without that desire for communication, would not look the way your house looks today


"This is FUN," Diana exclaimed and nudged Eliza with her elbow. The smile on Diana's face was infectious. "You and me. Sisters. Doing sister-y stuff. Right?"

"It reminds me of the Renaissance Festival," Eliza shot back, rolling her eyes. "So dumb."

"It's a street fair - it's fun!" Diana shrugged and let her eyes wander, taking in the sights and sounds with enjoyment. "Look!" she exclaimed, nudging Eliza again. "There's a psychic - let's go get our cards read!"

Eliza paused and held back, balking internally. "I can read my own cards, thanks."

Diana let out an exasperated sigh. "You're such a fucking killjoy," she muttered under her breath and fumbled through her purse. She located a twenty-dollar bill and held it up in Eliza's face. "I'm going to go see what she has to say." Diana strolled over to the fortune teller and sat down at the table, adorned with a cheap piece of crimson satin cloth. The psychic took Diana's hands in hers, inspected them for a long while, tracing her fingers over Diana's palms. A lengthy conversation commenced as the psychic pointed to points on Diana's hands and Diana nodded in agreement, smiling and wiping away tears from her eyes as she listened.

Eliza took a few steps forward. "But your sister," she heard the psychic say and blushed as the fortune teller and her sister both looked at her and stared.

The psychic motioned for Eliza to join them.

I can smell the snake-oil from here, she thought and shook her head, yet took a seat next to her sister at the table.

The psychic looked at Eliza and smiled. "Not all of it's snake-oil," she said. "Trust me."
© Copyright 2020 Edna. Mode. (lizco252isback at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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