Later That Day
(Words and Music by Kristen Miller)
You gonna keep me guessing, or you gonna tell me your name?
Keep you guessing, I say, but I think it's pretty plain
We both know I'm full of shit
I knew anything, I'd tell you
I'd tell you in a minute
Yeah, I know you can see it,
I'm a little young, I'm a little lost,
Caught in between this sterile world I live in
And the one you won't define
You'll leave a shred of it on my pillow
You'll hang the scent of it by my door
Later that day
Later that day
Later
That day
Away from the clink and clank of coffee cups, and filthy plates
I breathe your essence in heavy, discarded smoke
I soak it up, I drink it straight
And in its place, I leave an imprint that is me
The taste of that smoke is a new word on my tongue
One I am not afraid to use
Though it's more than just forbidden
It's a little bit profane
Like a curse you shouldn't utter
I don't need to explain there are some words that feel
Too good
Not
To say
Later that day
Later that day
Later that day
You'll leave a shred of it
You'll hang the scent of it by my door
Later that day
Later that day
Standing in my grandmother's house
the comfort of dinner cooking after church
the women in the kitchen making coffee
waiting on the men
the men who are just sitting there watching the game
but something is out of place today
I can smell the
sandlewood smoke, wafting right over the leg of lamb
Yeah, something's definitely askew
Because right now, my exotic boyfriend is repairing the attic roof.
Yep, I have trekked halfway around the world to redefine myself,
Trying to ditch this stone-age dogma
The rhythm of his hammering matches my feet on the stairs
I can't wait to see him - each moment opens something new
(one time, I was on the 6 train and I had the worst stomach ache)
some kind of new insight , (and I swear to God) new wisdom, (he
psychically reached his hand in my stomach and pulled the pain out)
something that leaves the past behind
I get to the top of the stairs and he's torn the roof off
I mean it's gone and all that's left is clear blue sky
And all he can do is smile and smile and smile
I gotta tell ya though, I find myself back downstairs pretty quick
because the new wisdom of today is that he would like
a cup of coffee
(gongs)
I'm thinkin' that's fine, I will make myself
A cup of tea
I load the tray with cream and sugar
I set down the mugs I've made by hand
blue glaze for him, green for me
Then it's like I'm looking in the mirror
I hand myself a green cup
and as I touch it to my lips,
I taste the darkness, the bitterness-
this is the blue mug
(this)
I try again
(this is not)
I take another green mug
And raising it to my lips, it's blue
With that bitter acid taste
(this is not my)
Raising a third celadon cup,
It turns sky blue before my eyes
that distinctive java steam rises up
( this is not
this is not my
this is not
my
cup)