Carrie Link

WHEN YOUR MAP IS TORN

I've been off lately - nothing I could put my finger on exactly, just an overall sense of being not quite myself.

Took Woohoo to school this morning, and on the way home, had Antje Duvekot cranked in the CD player, and as I'm singing along, pretty sure we'd make a nice duo, as I already know all her songs by heart, and am perfecting the harmony now, I hear myself sing, "When your path is dark and your compass gone. When your map is torn..." and I realize, That's it! My flippin' map is torn.

I have several friends that recently sent a child off to college. Their maps are torn, too. Even though they are not empty nesters, still have a kid or two in the nest, the little chicks are growing up, and moving out. Their primary roles as mothers is changing. Permanently.

And I thought my funky mood had something to do with that, with nostalgia, with poignancy, with jealousy, with the realization that my nest may never be made empty.

When I heard that song, though, I got a deeper look into my own neurosis: Rojo is doing really, really well. For twelve years my "map" has been to get him on track.

He's on track.

My map is torn.





HOLD ON - ANTJE DUVEKOT

When your heart is bent to weigh down a train
Hold on
When your soul is shipwrecked and you’re miles away
Hold on

When your fortress is an eggshell
Full of haunted cracks you cannot weld
There's no mercy sleep under stolen sheets
In a stillborn dream when your tank is empty
When your path is dark and your compass gone
When your map is torn, torn

And all your life you never thought you'd end here
Hold on
And all the glass is in pieces and the maids are in tears
Hold on

Now you're waiting for a rescue
But no snow white horse shows up for you
There's no mercy sleep under stolen sheets
In a stillborn dream when your tank is empty
When your path is dark and your compass gone
When your map is torn, torn

Minefield crossroads, watch the time flow
Crossless martyrs, just gets harder
Voiceless whisper, tongue played twister
Mirror, mirror, wish you were here

There's no mercy sleep under stolen sheets
In a stillborn dream when your tank is empty
When your path is dark, and your compass gone
When your map is torn, torn

There's no mercy sleep under stolen sheets
In a stillborn dream when your tank is empty
When your path is dark, and your compass gone
When your map is torn, torn