Ghost-like in the stage smoke,
And wailing the bonnie blues,
Voice filled with broken-glass pain,
Eyes brimming with silver-god wishes
The runaway is bleeding;
Bleeding for our pleasure – again.
This blonde is lovely-blind;
She cannot see past the
Wildheart babies with
Powder-white faces …
A way back to the top
From here, but she’ll
Sing your story –
Or any one you choose –
For money and a smile.
Don’t shatter what she has,
She’s so pure-blind,
has so little to believe in …
Please don’t tell her that
Nothing is faster than
The speed of night.
17/12/2012
