The counts to keep us in line. The counts to remind us we're fine. The counts that they once said will keep me from crying.
These counts, or these people one of them's lying but it's fine I'll keep on trying. But now I count in ballet...
Chassè. slow flows, breath in and out But panic, panic is the only art I p o r t r a y. Wounds that sprung out from my soul to lure me, that even when gore, I can conquer the sour and because this is the way, I let the music play.
Pirouette ҉ The twist and turns, not from the beauty of ballet. But from my insane little chamber. This chamber, that replays all the commotion and stops me from slumber So when at 4 a.m my demons have nothing else to torment me on I begin to ponder, I begin to wonder.
Soutenù. Let's look on the menu. Everything looks inviting but nothing makes me want to start this life a new I take a deep breath and glissade 'Cuz obviously I have to decide But my anxiety has caught up with me I rub my sweaty palms together and settle for tea
Developpè. I've developed the art of making every single thing less exciting So I wear my pointed shoes and fouettè. Here I'm supposed to put this thoughts behind, create a positive mind. So again I say I'm fine, smile and leap even though I still feel half blind.
Pliè. Almost the last day of May Mother doesn't reckon me being insane so she'd say, ❛stop soaking in your sorrow and please wake up early tomorrow❜ I want to, I really want to Oh dear lord do I wonder Why I fell among the unlucky few.
Tèndu. I sigh knowing how this will go. So when the therapist asks me ❛how do you do?❜ ❛You've reached the very last step I see?❜ I curtsy.
