My Father Was Strict, But He Recognised

It's [a Miscarriage] All Very Thief-in-the-night. No One Really Knows What To Say. You Go Into The Emergency Room, You Think You're Going To Be A Mum And You Walk Out Empty. It's All Neat And Tidy, There's This Potential Being In Your Life And You're Empty - All Cleaned Up And Put Back Together, But Completely Shattered.

I Would Love To Compose Something For Dance Before I Kick The Bucket, And I'm Not Closed-minded About The Dance, Or The Dance Company.

If You Are A Nurturing Mother, And A Good One, You Can Go To Play Groups, Sit On The Floor And Play All The Games, And Have Tea With The Other Mothers, But Wouldn't You Like To Think That's Not All There Is? That You Haven't Hung Up Your High Heels Without Knowing How To Walk In Them?

I've Been Looking For A Savior In These Dirty Streets, Looking For A Savior Beneath These Dirty Sheets.

I Think That People Who Can't Believe In Fairies Aren't Worth Knowing.