Bring me the head of John the Baptist
show it round and shine
his cloudy, marble, crossed and final eyes
once more into mine.
Give me a leg up high enough
to see beyond this wall,
to be the first to see the victors take the gate
or to be the last one so fall.
I said, “I meant a world of good”
and she said, “I wouldn’t doubt it”
standing where she was,
she kissed the back of my head;
I said, “we could make the woods”
but she said, “how ‘bout it —
let’s sleep and let them
find us here instead.”
Every time I catch a good sang
wouldn’t you know — the station starts to fade,
but every step I’ve ever taken
has brought me in time just to hear it slip away.
Bring me the head of John the Baptist
show it round and shine
his cloudy, marble, crossed and final eyes
once more into mine.