Anna-41-Box Songtext
von The Toll

Anna!
You′re forty-one, soon to be forty-two!
She hallucinates in her room

Anna has a home
In a window, sits alone
Guilty of her faith in God
Once or twice abused
But her hearth is cold
And the carpet her children trampled
In her attic, recollections lie
Faint, faded from view

Anna, won't you climb the stairs?
Anna, see what you′ve left up there
Your husband really doesn't care
Anna, won't you take me home tonight?
Anna, won′t you take me home tonight?


I′ll go home with you
You can breathe easy now
I'll be there with you
Oh, I′ve always wanted to

And she makes her bed
With her dolls above her head
Resting on shelves of stilts
Beyond her reach, her husband built

Anna, won't you climb the stairs?
Anna, look and see what′s up there
Your husband really doesn't care
Anna, won′t you take me home tonight?
Anna, won't you take me home tonight?

Anna, won't you take me home tonight?
Anna, won′t you take me home tonight?

Alright
Daughterhood, motherhood, womanhood, wife
Here comes your husband with his fascist boot
He′s come to trample across your room
They're gonna make a mess again, Anna
All over your tiled floor
Linoleum like virility, sterile and stained
They depict you in your love


Anna, won′t you take me home tonight?

Anna, won't you break your servile chains?
Anna, won′t you drip your own needs?
Anna, won't you self-serve me?
Now, I know you′re in there alone
I know you're upstairs in your room
Reading your trash novels
The ones with fertility on the cover
I know what kind of novels you're reading
Her husband makes these statements to punish her

And now quietly, there′s a change in the scenery
He begins to ascend the steps to her loft
Anna breaks out in a hot, clammy sweat
She thinks, "Oh my God, he′s gonna wanna make love again!
I don't know if I can go through this crucifixion of womanhood!
Ah, I′m gonna have to smoke my way through this
I'm gonna have to drink down the bottles of wine
And leave the delineated scraps all over the bedroom shelves"

She stands in the mirror and she pulls back her skin
Trying to smooth out the wrinkles
Looking for something more in the hollow

He takes the candle and drips the wax on her skin
And she thinks this is the sperm of the ages of men

She grips the sheet around her neck
She pretends she′s asleep
He comes in and when he comes in the room, he walks like this

And he toddles in front of her bed and he says
"Can I come under you and form a tent, Ana?"
And she begins to breathe hard
She says, "He knows I'm awake, he knows I′m awake!"

She tilts her head back in disgrace
And she thinks, "I'm gonna have to arch
My back and pretend it kills me again"
And the sheets begin to move like a wave
His body undulating on top of hers
Her limbs languid, she cannot care any longer
She is just a dead doll, just a puppet of his

She's trying to become numb to it all
His masculine lips sicken her
It smells of sex unwanted in her room
The coarseness of his words, of his twice-ruined love
The gruffness of his tones and the uttering lies
The stench of a lie

She closes her eyes and pictures the hope chest and the body combined
Her breasts are like handles
Her pelvis, nothing more than a trunk
For him to keep his tools in at night

She drifts away to something more sensual
She thinks about stabbing him
She climbs to the attic room
She rides her rocking horse
And down below, she thinks of her children at the foot of the steps
And her husband lying in her bed
She begins to smile again because she is a woman at forty-one

Go on and ride your rocking horse home
Stay in that attic room all year long
I have seen your rosary
And you′ve got twice as long in redemption
Oh, it′s what you call positive and negative addiction
Ana, yeah
Liberate yourself like the Kenyan wolf did in the sea

Ana, won't you take me home tonight?
Ana, won′t you take me with you upstairs?
Ana, won't you lacerate our love here?
Ana, get out of the house
Keep on going, it′s not too late
You're no longer a mother or a wife
You′re a woman about to seed