The drone off the interstate is breezing through your door nHis keys are in his hand, you should have fucking knownnYeah, sure, you understand, sometimes you need some time alonenYou've heard that one beforennWell it was him, girl, not younnYour feet are in their sockets, your eyes are on the floornYou're pillowtalking with your fears and waiting for the sunnYou've been here how many years and what are you doing and what have you donenYou picture your walk to work and you know that the first time you pass someonenHe'll flash his eyes away from yours the moment that they meetnHe'll crinkle himself half a smile, the conquistador, the elitenHe'll leave you dumb, humming some clumsy elegy, yeahnI've heard that one beforennBut look it'll be him, girl, not younnDon't you dare think that you're smallnDon't you dare think that you're smallnDon't you dare think that you're smallnDon't you dare think that you're smallnnForget the newsnThe radionAnd the blurred screennYou cut through them allnYou're all the way over here inside of menPushing out at every wallnnDon't you dare think that you're smallnnTheirs was a jealous God, young, virile, the lion's roarnA fearsome warrior fuckyouupper flattered by our prayersnHe fed his vultures their supper, flashed him a flood, disciplined his heirsnYeah that was then, now ours would rather keep off of the stairsnAn empty-nested housewife at the end of the daynWearied from a life of tidying clutters others madenCrashed out on a couch with her dinner on a traynUnimpressed, unimpressed, unimpressed by what we've got to saynShooing away, with a mighty hand, a reality as it brays, spakingnGive it a rest, give it a restnWe've heard that one beforennYeah it's Him, girl, not younYou know it's Him, girl, not younYou know it's HimnnLoaves and Fishes by David Whyte (from The House of Belonging)