Some years ago they say
She was young and cast away
By a man who used a bottle for a tune
With his ragged lonely lies
He'd stroke her shaky thighs
And he said his only home was in the womb

Like a fallen angel's son
He pays for all he's done
But he's got this hollow feeling in his eyes
When he first saw her on the street
He almost felt complete
Till she showered him with memories and crimes

There are places one can go
Where broken rivers flow
Where the fairest birds still haven't sung in tune
But I'll be on my way
Far from the blackest way
And I'm hoping for a letter from you soon

© 1983 by Doug Birch