They Named Her The Pure

Written by David Dylan

Lyrics quoted: Guns & God ? New York Alcoholic Anxiety Attack

"Sometimes I hear my voices come, then they fade. So I start to realise and I open up my grave..."

She is shy.

She likes to wear her hair loose, and she likes dresses. Elegant dresses.

Some people say she has her life planned out, but she knows that is not true. You can't plan for the inevitable. It is like the difference between knowing and believing. And she believes.

Sometimes she is not sure what. Sometimes she is not sure of many things, but being sure is a state of mind. Under her insecurity lies that rock-solid foundation of destiny. Some things she isn't sure of, because being sure would imply the possibility of alternatives. There are none.

She was never forced into anything. No one had to. She just did because that's what you do.

"...I've got a gun, I've got God, I've got faith, I'm in love..."

She is happy because you just are. Her friends drink beer, she likes tea, Jasmin. Her friends judge the world, seize it up and reject what they cannot fit inside their imagination. She likes to draw. She doesn't draw much that she can't see. She keeps her imagination inside her head. Its where her friends like it.

They do the things you just do. They aren't conformists. They have nothing to conform to. Everybody in their world does the same things, likes the same things, because there is nothing else.

No one questions the importance of the beer bong. It isn't even a ritual, rituals have meaning. Didn't we have fun last night? Lets count how much fun we drank. Is it time for the prank yet?

"You sit around and you drink my blood, but I'm dry, dry... so I start to realise and I start to slip inside..."

She was in love once, she thinks. She can't be sure. It wasn't according to prophecy. He didn't fit the big picture. Besides, isn't love just what you 'do'?

She peeks out of her garden. She sees a world full of apple trees, apple trees and snakes. It is alluring. But the water is sweet there, she knows. And sweet water isn't for her. She doesn't restrain herself. Others do that for her. Not by force, with love, kindness, acceptance and the unspoken threat that it can be taken away.

Her parents love her. The world is waiting for her to be perfect while she is perfect in it. She likes art. She likes heavy metal. She likes it neatly, folded away in her allotted measure of dissention. On her bed stand there's a single rose, which never dies. Silk flowers, Jasmine and Rose.

There is this ripple in the fabric of perfection. She is confused by it. She doesn't avoid it. There is no reason to. When everything is as it should be, nothing can harm her.

If everything stays as it should be.

She has a boyfriend. She loves him. She has loved him for years, she realised that a few months ago. Things folded neatly into place. He loved her. He was safe. And a boyfriend is just what you have.

There was this distortion on the edge of her vision, but what can't be won't be, if you don't let it.

"...I've got a gun..."

They wait for marriage. But she knows they won't get married. A boyfriend is just what you do. It's not what you marry.

Sometimes she wonders what that thing was that assaulted her emotions like a shark in the kiddie pool. That warm feeling, that confusion, the lurking fear... sweet water.

"...I've got God..."

She hugs but she doesn't kiss. She kisses, but she does not tell. She drives straight on for morning. Keep to the limit and have your oil checked on time. She likes to wear her hair loose. She likes elegant dresses.

She is in love.

"...I go quick..."

I know.

"...I'm in love..."