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A GAME OF CHESS I, pt V of The Waste Land cycle by Joel Sattler,
based on TS Eliot

she sat there in her burnished chair
in the stink perfume of her fire hair
and told the tale of Philomel
who turned into a nightingale

she turned into a nightingale
nightingale she had no choice
filling all the virgin desert
with a never broken voice

but now she sat in marble room
full of cupids made of gold
full of riches full of glitter
lonely stupid sated cold

and still she cried, the world pursued
and hooted "jug jug" to dirty ears
footsteps shuffled on the stairs
her nerves were bad and full of fear

and we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess

she stay with me a while
speak to me you never smile
what you thinking what you mean
I never know until you scream

I think we're in rat's alley now
don't ask me why I don't know how
what's that noise, wind under door
why'd you have to do that for

what does the wind do nothing do
nothing again no nothing new
nothing seen nothing known
do you remember nothing no

I remember once was wise
those are pearls that were his eyes
are you alive or not or dead
is ther nothing in your head?

oh let's do the Shakespeare rag
elegant intelligent
shall I rush out as I am
tell me what to do again

we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess

if it rains if it pours
step into closed car at four
pressing lidless eyes and waiting
for a knock upon the door

then we shall play a game of chess
why we should I can not guess
but the poet told me yes
so we shall play a game of chess

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