Fake Plastic Trees

Down my street there lived a quiet girl. She was so composed and mysterious. In the summer she would plant flowers day in and day out, but they were never real, I think she was afraid of death. She had a set of spades, blue like the sky. She would take her little red wheel barrel, and roll it to the edge of the yard. She'd then begin to pull up the weeds, the weeds that never grew, but I guess it kept her busy. I would drive by her house, and she would never look up. She would always be crouched over smelling her precious silk flowers, sprinkling them with her empty green watering can.

She didn't live alone. She was never lonely, because she lived with a retired plastic surgeon, named Gene. Gene drove a fancy red car, and he was never out of gas. He would sit on the porch, and just read his blackened newspaper, with the ink rubbing off on his fingers, blending them into the pages. He was a quiet man, he could fix any face, but all faces he fixed are old. All the lovely faces, are gone. As time would pass them, they would never change like the faces would, but occasionally he�d get out the watering hose to fill her little green can up, but no water ever poured, I don�t think they ever cried. I don�t think they ever slept.

I would watch them from my window, in wonder. I grew to love them over the years, I grew to love their simple, ritual days. My life seemed so much more complicated. When the winter came, I would see her still in her large gray coat, three sizes to big for her tiny body, I don�t think she ever ate. One early morning Gene drove off, in his shiny red car. I hadn�t heard a door slam, or any words yelled, but Gene was gone. Looking out the window I noticed the wheel barrel still sitting there beside the house, holding simply her empty green watering can. I went and sat on my stoop wondering wether or not to go to her. I decided to wait.

After an hour or two she did appear, her little body bouncing in her gray coat as she ran to her perfect flower beds. She got down on her knees and buried her face into their silk. She was whispering soft, quiet words, like wishes to them. I stood up, I was afraid, but I walked slowly down the street to her side. I sat down on my knees, and I noticed she was weeping, watering the flowers with her raindrops. I wanted to say something, she didn�t even know me. She took my hand, and placed it down in the cool dirt, where it was moist with her tears. I looked at her soft, simple face, it was flushed and her eyes seemed so gray. I wanted to wipe away her tears, I wanted to be her�s, whatever she wanted. She just sat there, looking at the ground, watching her losses fall onto the pastel petals of her loves, her only loves. She�d never been alone, and now she was alone, so her flowers were soon covered in the heavy mist of her loneliness. It weighed down like stones on the featherlike arms of the daisies. Their colors faded, and dripped to the earth. We just sat there alone in the cold, and I wept alone, beside her.

They didn�t have to need, until they were alone, in this fake plastic world.

+++Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead+++ Her green plastic watering can For her fake chinese rubber plant In fake plastic earth. That she bought from a rubber man In a town full of rubber plans Just to get rid of itself. And it wears her out, it wears her out It wears her out, it wears her out. She lives with a broken man A cracked polystyrene man Who just crumbles and burns. He used to do surgery For girls in the eighties But gravity always wins. And it wears him out, it wears him out It wears him out, it wears him out. She looks like the real thing She tastes like the real thing My fake plastic love. But I can�t help the feeling I could blow through the ceiling If I just turn and run And it wears me out, it wears me out It wears me out, it wears me out. And if I could be who you wanted If I could be who you wanted, All the time, all the time.