there’s a black light burning brighter
than the moonshine, the igniter
all the purpose on the pyre
all is worthless in the fire

and there’s no reason left to sleep
when all the good dreams are really happening
he looks at me and I feel it unraveling
the golden touch, the majesty

the lilac, the cognac, the straight face, the gay laugh
the quiet before the heart attack
Can I please have it all back?

the windows, the pillows, the breezes and the billows
it’s cold here but god knows
there is life still in the primrose