In the failing light of the afternoon 
Lucy in the shade of the dogwood blooms 
Yesterday the solace of a poison fish 
Tomorrow I'll be kissing on her blood red lips 

No one is the savior they would like to be 
The lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood tree 
With a train of horses laughing through the traffic line 
And the cradle's unimaginative sense of time 

Springtime and the promise of an open fist 
tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist 
Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow 
With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down