The Speed of Night

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.