In the failing light of the afternoon
Lucy in the shade of the dogwood blooms
Yesterday the solace of a poison fish
Tomorrow I´ll be kissing on her blood red lips

No one is the savior they would like to be
The lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood tree
With a train of horses laughing through the traffic line
And the cradle´s unimaginative sense of time

Springtime and the promise of an open fist
A tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist
Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow
With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down