from by Unwoman




I drive by your mother’s house
Though she’s asleep, and you are out
Two thousand, eight hundred and ninety eight miles away
To be precise

Just to smell that air again
To feel nostalgia mixed with pain
For the days when you were here
And I would come when you’d call

In a parallel world
I am a much more lovable girl
You’re reading me new pages from your great novel
You’re holding my hand as if you need it
But here, I only ever fell in love
So I could play the game of
Long-dead poets called genius
As only men and suicides can be called

So that when our bodies are
Dust specks in the beams of unnamed stars
The words I’ve assembled for you
Will still exist

I write songs for you but you don’t listen
Worse than judgment, silence means indifference
But someone will hear them
So they will live forever
Though you and I will never be young again

I keep driving
I keep writing
I am circling
I may never land


from Circling, released July 24, 2014




Unwoman San Francisco

Unwoman is a San Francisco-based cellist-singer-songwriter. Layered with skillful cello, rich vocals, and electronically arranged beats, her solo music is a futuristic homage to her classical training. Unwoman has been featured at steampunk, goth, and sci-fi-related events all over North America and has performed with Abney Park, Rasputina, Voltaire, Amanda Palmer, Stripmall Architecture... ... more

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