Well I know a woman with a collection of sticks
She could fight back the hundreds of voices she heard
And she could poke at the greed, she could fend off her need
And with anger she found she could pound every word.
But one voie got through, caught her up by surprise
It said, "Don't hold us back, we're the story you tell,"
And no sooner than spoken, a spell had been broken
And the voices before her were trumpets and tympani
Violins, basses and woodwinds and cellos, singing,
"We're so glad that you finally made it here
You thought no one cared, but we did, we could tell
And now you'll dance through the days while the orchestra plays
And oh, you're aging well."
Now when I was fifteen, oh I knew it was over
The road to enchantment was not mine to take
Cause lower calf, upper arm should be half what they are
I was breaking the laws that the signmakers made.
And all I could eat was the poisonous apple
And that's not a story I was meant to survive
I was all out of choices, but the woman of voices
She turned round the corner with music around her,
She gave me the language that keeps me alive, she said,
"I'm so glad that you finally made it here
With the things you know now, that only time could tell
Looking back, seeing far, landing right where we are
And oh, you're aging, oh, I'm aging, oh, aren't we aging well?"
