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The curtain slaps in the wind |
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A human sound of fleshy flesh |
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Little fists pummel absently |
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To birth the spirit in the room |
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The wind it seems to lick |
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The wind it seems to suck |
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The wind is a great big woman |
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That makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up |
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My body seems to be lacking something |
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I remember the taste |
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That on a night like this |
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Wa sonly ever shed in haste |
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All these moments have passed through me |
|
I have turned them all to waste |
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There are women on the street |
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They shine before me like teeth in a mine |
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And their are voices on the street |
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One of them is mine |
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If i watched from a high hidden window |
|
I'd hear myself say |
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Oh i can't make it out |
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I'm too far away |
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But the conversation is like the beating |
|
Taken in a dream |
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Where no real blows are landed |
|
The only harm is in memory |
|
All these women have passed through me |
|
I have turned them all to waste |
