Shannon Hoon Was Alive That Night

(not a tribute)

But I'm not an empathetic idiot,
I can get beautiful for you.

I wanted a taste of sin.
I became a feminist.
I slept under the law, where
the world was rough.
And I couldn't give it up all at once.

I wanted a taste of sin.
I became a lesbian.
I lived in the Carolinas where the
people were true.
I gave that up to benefit a few.

Just like when Kurt Cobain put
gas in his truck late one night.
But the next day I saw him riding
a bike. But people swore that they'd
seen him there, even though he'd
been dead since 1994. Or the time
James Dean walked into a bistro
with a noose around his neck.
And he told everyone in that tiny mid-western
town that he'd killed himself, but
he wasn't dead (yet, but he prayed.) They never
questioned him, no they never did. Oh, and
remember that hurtful singer from the
nineties? He isn't dead either, but
he wasn't a genius.

I wanted a taste of blood.
And so I became the disillusioned
litte Robbie Hawkins. Only unlike him,
I was singing, "(garret, dan, preston)"
Because Robbie thought he'd be remembered.
Isn't Robbie a monster?
He thought we wouldn't forget-
and so he didn't think it was worth it.
'Cause I saw him in between faces and waves
yesterday at the lake.
No matter how much I screamed it,
he wouldn't acknowledge his name.
Since nobody (but me) ducked when he pulled
out a gun,
hot smells wafted under my nose.
And if I stuck out my tongue
I could taste the "wasted parenthood."
Later that night he held me and said,
"I wanted to relive it."
I told him I just wanted to love him.
We wouldn't understand but,
he'll never know what that means.