http://il5.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/18075982/thumb/5.jpg

An Ultraviolet Waltz

http://il5.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/18075982/thumb/5.jpg

She died on the roof where it was sunny, honey,

From the backlash of the heatstroke in the crossfire

While Wilson ached about tender women and liars

 

It’s said that detectives were pursuing the moon –

Dusting for fingerprints on soul and silver linings

And finding clues inside the grooves of doo-wop tunes

 

She died on the roof to the Vandellas looking

Down on the switchblade dances in the mean streets

Nothing fazed that little marvelette, that supreme

 

So in her mind she flied when the stars aligned

Her bread and wine she swapped for cream and whiskey

To find a sky of new moons in a waltz of words

 

 

Ascending above the backstabbings and bribings

We’ll dance and we’ll die high above the ceiling

Eventually, definitely, incandescently

 

But only when it’s sunny, honey.

 

Leave a Comment