Torn stockings, my toes are peeking.
Worn mockings, my fists are clenching.
Used to see in monochrome,
Technicolor’s the epitome.
They told me I should be more sensitive.
But my brain-waves are far too talkative.
They told me to stop my running.
But my feet are way too cunning.
They said I have to be a girl.
But I want so much to conquer the world.
They want me to watch my mouth.
But I’m not from way down south.
(more…)
