The Piano Man
face the color of a ripe grave
hands wound over your thin white knees
songs in the thorn-strewn knot of your throat
one cool voice held to the silent, holy air
hands buckled over the piano
each chord strangling its brothers and sisters
a brawl, one last battle for the kiss of your skin
face the color of a ripe grave
hands wound over your thin white knees
songs in the thorn-strewn knot of your throat
one cool voice held to the silent, holy air
hands buckled over the piano
each chord strangling its brothers and sisters
a brawl, one last battle for the kiss of your skin