Diane [demo]

Demo version:

So much of her life she’s spent on wards like this
With panic locked behind her eyes and dressings on her wrists.

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

They feed her love in millivolts, and faith in plastic spoons
Sometimes it all washes out, and she has to rush out of the room
Sometimes she hits out; mostly, she turns on herself
And in rage and desperation she seeks out the razor’s edge

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

There’s an old man in her mirror with his own tale to tell
He has words like “communicate” and “socialize” to sell
He’s promised her that she’s learning how to crawl out of her shell
She says “He’ll get my head together, on the next cool day in hell…”

Salvation comes expensive, by the litre or the gramme
But she holds on to her anger, if that’s all that comes to hand
It’s a sword that has two edges, but she’s learning to survive
And when she’s closest to dying, anger tells her that she’s alive

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

Now she’s going out again, to meet her life head on
Hanging with the world, as it might be by her thumbs
Most of what I’d like to say sounds trite, sounds absurd
But we’ve been lovers and we’ve been friends, and we’ve never needed those words

Next time I see Diane, she’ll still be beating the drop
I wish I could be half the person she is, if only I had half the guts

Words and music by David Harley, copyright 1982

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