the fire is rising
the cracks in the ceiling won't mend
I can see through the starlight
the moonrise is past time
and the mule has been dipping his head
but the lioness purrs
like a murmur of birds
when you can't tell which way's the end
so we park in the field
where the whiporwills wheel
and the sunlight is nobodies friend
oh bright spokes of fire
burn out before liars
a thousand to one, but the one always wins
and your mystery satin
your fine dress and hat pins
can't cover up none of your sin
