Thursday, March 14, 2002

Ballad of Sigmund Freud

Fact or fantasy
fiction of feeling
dream or history
memory or imagination
I know where it hurts
a wound that siginfies
I know who i am
a lie I realise
the self I recognise

is it rough ?
vulgar and sadistic
hard enough ?
or mercilessly realistic ...

the struggle to maintain
believe to please me
the search for hidden pain
no one said it would be easy
Dora was depressed
he could tell by the way she dressed
into her mind he pressed
digging for the thing repressed
the memory supressed

in her dreams
it's a seduction
but what it means
is ultimately his construction

a boy who loved a girl
who looked much like his mother
figments of an inner world
compelling him to love her
truth was his excuse
deathwish in his downmind
a shock would shake him loose
nothing's irreplaceable
no conviction is unshakable

so it's said
buried in the fertile garden
in his head
key to all his sins and pardons
wounds have bled
waiting for his heart to harden
is sigmund dead ?
no not in California
no not in California
no not in California ...