I know you’re strong. So, most likely I am, too.

Today I want to share some lyrics to a song by the Weakerthans. I’d never heard of them or this song twenty-four hours ago, but it was exactly what I needed to hear. My thanks to Vox for sending it my way.

Plea From a Cat Named Virtute

Why don’t you ever want to play?
I’m tired of this piece of string.
You sleep as much as I do now
and you don’t eat much of anything.
I don’t know who you’re talking to:
I made a search through every room
but all I found was dust that moved
in shadows of the afternoon.

And listen, about those bitter songs you sing:
they’re not helping anything,
they won’t make you strong.

So we should open up the house,
invite the tabby two doors down.
You could ask your sister if
she doesn’t bring her basset hound.
Ask the things you shouldn’t miss:
tape hiss and the modern man,
cold war and card catalogs,
to come and join us if they can.

For girly drinks and parlor games —
We’ll pass around the easy lie
of absolutely no regrets,
and maybe later you could try
to let your losses dangle off
the sharp edge of a century.
We’ll talk about the weather,
or how the weather used to be.

And I’ll cater with all the birds that I can kill,
let their tiny feathers fill disappointment.
Lie down, and lick the sorrow from your skin,
Scratch the terror and begin to believe you’re strong.

All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV.
Frankly that thing doesn’t really interest me.
I swear I’m going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood
if you don’t stop the self-defeating lies you’ve been repeating
since the day you brought me home.
I know you’re strong.

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