Andrea Gibson - Etiquette leash (feat. bryan wagstaff) [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

I want a good heart
I want it to be made of good stuff
I want the stain glass window builder to be my drinking buddy
I want to drink only the punch of a million gender queer school kids taking free martial arts lessons to survive recess
I stopped calling myself a pacifist when I heard Gandhi told women they should not physically fight off their rapists
I believe there is such a thing as a non violent fist
I believe the earth is a woman muzzled, beaten, tied to the cold slinging tracks
I believe the muzzled have every right to rip off the Bible Belt and take it to the patriarchy's ass
I know these words are going to get me in trouble
It is never polite to throw back the tear gas
Just like its never polite to bring enough life rafts
They crowd the balconies where the wealthy shine their jewels
But sometimes love
Sometimes real love
Is fucking rude
Is interrupting a wedding mid vow just as the congregation is about to cry
To stand up in your pew to say "is everyone here clear on how diamonds are mined?"
Hallelujah to every drag queen at Stonewall who made weapons out of her stiletto shoes
Hallelujah to the blues keeping the neighborhood awake
To the activist standing in the snow outside of the circus holding a ten foot photograph of a baby elephant in chains when it's probably some little kid's birthday
Hallelujah to making everyone uncomfortable
To the terrible manners of truth
To refusing to clean the blood off the plate
Bend this spine into a bow I can pull across the cello of my speak up
Love readies its heart's teeth
Chews through the etiquette lease
Takes down the cellphone tower after millions of people die in wars in the Congo fighting for the minerals that make our cellphones
Love blows up the dam
Chains itself to the redwood tree
To the capital building when a trailer of Mexican immigrants are found dead on the south Texas roadside
Love insists well intentioned white people officially stop calling themselves color blind
Insists hope lace it's fucking boots
Always calls out the misogynist, racist, homophobic joke refuses to be a welcome mat where hate wipes its feet
Love asks questions at the most inappropriate times
Overturns the defense of marriage act then walks a pride parade asking when the plight of poor single mothers will ignite our hearts into action like that
Love is not polite
Deadlocks our rush hour traffic with a hundred stubborn screaming bikes
Hallelujah to every suffrage movement hunger strike
Hallelujah to insisting they get your pronouns right
Hallelujah to tact never winning our spines
To taking our power all the way back to that first glacier that had to learn how to swim
To not turning our heads from a single ugly truth
To knowing we live in a time when beauty recruits its models outside the doors of eating disorder clients
That is not a metaphor
This is not a line to a poem
An Indian farmer walks into a crowd of people and stab himself in his chest to protest the poisoning of his land
A Buddhist monk burns himself alive on the streets of Saigon
A US soldier hangs himself wearing his enemy's dog tags around his holy neck
May my heart be as heavy as a tuba in the front row of the Mardi Gras parade five months after Katrina
May it weigh the weight of the world so it might anchor the sun so it might hold me to my own light till I am willing to sweat as much as I cry
Till I am willing to press into the clay of our precious lives
A window
Might our grace riot the walls down
May the drought howl us awake
May we rush into the streets to do the work of opening each other's eyes
May our good hearts forever be too loud to let the neighbors sleep