The wound wrapped in song
Lovers knew it all along
Chances are that they know who she is
The girl's a tiptoeing villainess
Oh and the fire ladder's rungs are wet with rain
And its ascent is a bargain
Your hurried feet tread again and again
Onto the ruptures margin
Feeling the narratives of days boiling up in the airways
Tell me to whom do you whisper yours
It is night and it's stretched like a bed sheet
Over the face of the day
Rolled up trouser legs
Wading through the memories
Riling up the pond to get over to the one
Sink into this mirror-puddle and cool your burning eyes
Once there was space and a soft smiling face
And the jab of breath that would reach me
Now the world has contracted
And her thin leather pants cling to a man, who smudges her make up with his crudeness
Feeling the narratives of days boiling up in the airways
Tell me to whom do you whisper yours
It is night and it's stretched like a bed sheet
Over the face of the day
