The Phantom Limbs - FROM A DISTANCE

FROM A DISTANCE

i hate the drowning man
who digs into my skin
wants me to take a swim
with him

i hate the wounded man
who staggers
into my arms
convulsing and puking

my little child
spitting up
and crying for his bottle

my aching back has
carried him
to act as launching pad
not landing strip

i’ll cut the cord
then i can love this satellite

i love the pampered man
who swaggers
out of my arms
displaying his many charms for the other ones

he walks out head held high
dressed to the nines
with feathers in his cap
plucked from my back

my aching back has
carried him
to act as launching pad
not landing strip

i’ll cut the cord
then i can love this satellite
the way that one should love a star
(from a distance)