What is it to take care of yourself? What are we taking care of? A million bedrooms with hands softly Lulling our divine cocks and cunts Without telling anyone, a million Ships come alone out on the calmest seas So are we loving ourselves now? Are we mothering ourselves? Statistics and newspapers tell me I am unhappy and dying That I need man and child to fulfill me That I'm more likely to get breast cancer And it's biology, it's my own fault It's divine punishment of the unruly It's fearfull out here on the calmest Seas, we who grew up singing Merry christmas! War is over! Our mothers softly humming: We're at the edge of history But, but I keep growing older, eight years since 25 now And all that ages now is the body, is the body, body I wonder why, I think to myself One of these days everything I write begins with the question: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? You say I'm free now that battle Is over and feminism is over and socialism's Over yeah, say I can consume what I want now Consume what I want now This is what happens on the edge of history: The great eye turns to us We are the only thing that's aging But we don't know it yet We cling onto heaven Heaven Heaven Heaven Sleep tight forever Sleep tight forever