Muse 67: Age of Innocence

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Her bones felt achingly sore. Not that the comparison should make sense when she was merely fourteen years old. Fourteen felt like such an incredible age... of confusion. Her parents were already asking her what she wanted to do with her life, and the teachers, who didn't care, weren't making the decisions any easier. She was only fourteen, and her body shouldn't feel this way. Old and aching, as if she were ninety years old trapped in a youthful body. Every decision she wanted to make was challenged by a lingering fear that anything could change. As she squirmed in bed, wishing her ligaments didn't ache so much, she suddenly felt a wetness between her legs. Were her bones breaking apart? Her fingertips awkwardly touched where it hurt and came back up with blood. 

Muse 3: Ribcage Song

credit: http://ghostpatrol.net/

We sat beneath the wych elm tree, and you were singing, "Oh skeletal bones, oh skeletal bones where will you be when I've gone home." I looked at you curiously, wondering where that song had played on the radio. Were you trying to sing a song about us? And you looked at me with that child-like song vibrating in the air as you kept on singing, "Can I hold your hand, can I call you home - you're, you're that cage that protects when I'm alone." Your voice might have been ratty and gritty like old bones in dry sand, but you still sounded so lovely to me.