My man is a wraith,
I think I know his face but then it’s different-
I think my mind is playing tricks
and he won’t let me get a picture
I can live with.
Inside it’s all space with burning gas combustion lit like roman candles
on the mantle piece-
I watch it burn down from my glass case
locked up like a coffin
and everyone is laughing.
They’re eating a menagerie of food
that I’ve prepared,
spread legs on chaise lounges
I’ve kept clean, I mean pristine.
They drop the laundry in the chute,
yeah, I’m a coin operated dream bimbo
with no pole to dance on,
no handsome phantom to take a chance on.
&This song, this song is my only song,
I’ve sung it so long my voice whistles
and dies off on the words
which mean nothing on my tongue.
This is my anthem.
&I don’t want to be saved,
not really, not today.
This is my sacred space,
I don’t want to be replaced
and go to waste on the winds of change.
Think I’ll stay inside my aviary-
And maybe you’ll come visit me
and listen to my song,
remark that it’s okay.
Melancholy in the beautiful sense,
don’t you agree?
You will confirm it’s lovely, yeah
It’s quaint, but goes a little too long,
before the click of the lock
bangs loud as a gong,
just for me.