Quand vient le vent avec les mains pleines de demain
Ich gehe nach mein viedersehen
to dry my poems in the rain.
The people on the bus go up and down, up and down,
up and down
And the broken carousel staggers to a stop
As the black ponies are pulled out by their roots
And planted in Charlie's bar among the flowergirls
And the Charleston
takes us on our one way journey
through stone speakeasies
where smoking guns accompany
the moaning jazz: as the slaves are called in
from the fields to entertain the frightened ghosts
and the cotton candy floats
on a tar lake:
while Helga lies across the bed,
her pale body brightened by streaks of red,
Sargeant Joe gives the order,
"No one is to touch the knife."
But Higgins pulls it out.
"I can't bear to watch the dead suffer."