Tori Amos - Hereinmyhead.com

Drivin� in my Saab
on my way to Ireland
it�s been a long time
it�s been a long time
Drivin� with my friends
on my way to Ireland
it�s been a long time
it�s been a long time

So when I was out
in the desert
And a cowboy
tried to lasso me
He said your red
and made of clay
a virgin portrait
I let him wake me
but decided not to stay

Next in New York
I fell out with a dragon
Of the white collar kind
but just as ferocious
I remembered Macha
running faster than the horses
Then an encounter with
a voice that caressed me

Wasn�t it you who
held off a surrender
To one spoiled nun
who taught you the names
of the mountains
on the moon
and then a Jesuit
proceeded to arrange your soul
while I prayed
on my knees

© Sword & Stone

n/a

Others [songs] follow an interior logic (Of Ireland, she writes, "I figured if [it] was referring to James Joyce, then it needed to have nuns, and if it had nuns, then it needed to have white-collar sadomasochists from Wall Street, and if it had that, then it needed to have Vikings...").
-- Tori; The Philadelphia Inquirer, Feb 22, 2005

I like my Saab.
I like Ireland.
We were gathering there for a few weeks in the summer. Strange occurrences happen there. Maybe because the veils are thin. I look up on the hills that surround me and I am mesmerized. All the hassles of daily life freeze their chattering head (aches) as I sit. Drawn into a different kind of drumming that I, strangely enough, can hear. It is faint. But it is hypnotising. I look up and You could say someone has taken a paint brush so that I can barely make out the contour of bodies, the etching of a hero's physique. A hero from Munster being welcomed back in this tribal ceremony---- where beauties of all shapes and sizes sway to the drumming that has now joined with a haunting sound. Distant chanting that is warming the fires. I am not warm or cold. A bard by the fire regales the feats of the last many, many days. He is there. I breathe him in. The festivities of the Tuatha De Danann go into the night. Through the open windows of my room, I can look out on these hills. Sometimes they are quiet and simply act as a blanket for the house and for anyone who comes here to rest, or to write. Ellie smiles as Dunc puts the kettle on. Fresh herbs from the garden mingle, making conversation in porcelain. I leave Ellie and Dunc and a Pomerol Chateau Moulinet in the Kitchen. The stairs carry me back to my open window. I curl up in my duvet and am rocked to the place where our senses are awake. I dream myself awake. The bard reaches for the elements. From ether, From fire. He seduces me with his story. The Tuatha De Danann break camp at dawn. I write this as another promo day begins in the land of Runes and of longboats - longboats that long ago made the Emerald Isle their destination. I don't have a longboat but I do have a Saab.
-- Tori; Diary Entry @ Toriamos.com