It’s dark, cold, and good folk are in bed
Dreaming of what the blue noise said, maybe about them,
Such old and shrunken people, smiles at the ready,
Toothless and with balding hearts
On which of course you dote –
Let them be, I’ll take you to the pictures,
Just get my coat.
Wait, something is missing, a lacuna in the room,
See the mirrors on the ceiling reflect a face of doom,
Excuse me, are you sleeping, let me wrap you up…
These old shrunken people, no teeth,
When proposed to or accepted, relief!
Coffee and cigarettes lay waiting to be used
And so is Tootsie over there, her turn to be abused.
Wait, something is missing, lacuna in the room,
Again I see a ceiling mirror paint a face of doom,
Excuse me, are you sleeping, let me cut your throat,
Wrap that sensuous body up in your nylon coat.
You can walk upon the streets at night,
When people are eating,
Peer into the lit rooms and feel the central heating;
Children from fairgrounds can be led
To that second location (a car, a flat) … bars are haunted
By men who slit throats while women chat.
So don’t walk up to a face out of place:
That’ll be the day Jim Phelps refused a mission,
The day that Biggles crashed a plane,
Or the day they closed the easement
Leading down to Lovers’ Lane.