“Can I pull this from the air? Do I have the strength to fight?
Will I hold my tongue ‘till it passes through this long and balmy night?
And a mother sets the table, cleans the dishes with her hands.
Pass down through the poking and the prodding and the ‘don’t let this get in the way of your plans,’
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through,
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through.
Can I hope for something more? Can I hope for something real?
Stand tall in the backyard, praying to my trees, for something to feel.
And I hear him pulling up, I hear the door, slammed in.
The slow whistle of his cigarette, And all I want is to peel the paint,
The paint from his skin.
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through.
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through.
And I can’t let it go, can’t let it go,
This is the last time I’ll feel it there,
And I can’t let it go, can’t let it go,
‘Cause even if I shut my eyes, he’s still out there,
Still out there.
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through,
Oh when it hits me, all I can do is just breathe again,
And breathe through,
And forget the me and the you.”

~Annie Stela