Agatha and I go
Down to the courtyard slinging
Last year’s Sundays in the river of time
Agatha and I go
Down to the citadel Sunday
Red church bells and the moon on the rise
If you were to tell her
The days are numbered
I’d break the teeth in your fake ass smile
Maybe in a rare wind
Maybe in a month of Sundays
Maybe in a war I would still read the wrong signs
But I don’t mind it
Being in the darkness baby
To be by your side, I would walk the Nile twice
Days of lantana
Each saint with a cross and a hammer
Radiation of the Cherenkov kind
So we go walking
Birds at the window talking
Jubilation in the faint June shine
Agatha and I go
Down to the citadel winning
Things that graciously came to mind
Gathering the day in
Some make arrangements
Some know the way and they just walk a straight line
Well, Curly’s a baker’s boy
Living for the harvest nights
Turns to me and says something like, “The world only turns twice”
“Once for the laughter
Once for the memories after
All the rest is just kicking through weather and fines”
So we go dancing
We’ll twist turns and all things fancy
“I blame the baker boy”, that’s what I had on my mind
You in the here now
Me in the far bar
I’d wait forever if they gave me enough time
Outside walking
Birds at the window talking
Iterations of the faint June shine
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