And now I find the man is dead, devoid before I arrive.
Tell me why his dried up heart is flaking on my pillow.
A working soul is hardly there. It left its bones on the railroad.
The feeling man was bound, by fate, to be an inmate.
I lost a leg in this dress. We lost a damsel in distress.
So I’m mourning, losing limbs all over the place.
Come down to the merry town, come down to the coast to see,
To whom do the bones belong that linger ‘neath the willow.
Come down to the public sphere, come down to the forum.
To whom do the bones belong that linger ‘neath decorum?
He said, “Come be lover, come be my womb.”
No room. No room.
He said, “Come be my lover, jump in my bed.”
Cold sweat. Get bent.