A Flower in a Glove

Because you were always unnoticed
You were always the flame that dies
Bastard with a flat-top singing, «The Cloud of Unknowing»
Bastard with a flat-top singing, «There's a flame, a flame, a flame
A flame that never dies.»
Because you were always unfocused
Jinxing the photograph with the pain in your eyes
Bastard with a flat-top singing, «I shall wait for your love
I shall wait for your love all days.»
Bastard with a casket singing, «I shan’t wait for her love
I shan’t wait for her love.»
But you were always:
A saint, a flower in a glove, a night made for the raising of your glass
The night’s going to be a foolin' and a foolin', but still:
Judith ain’t sure
Toil away, play in the sand, gross out your heart
The night’s going to be made for the la-la-la, but still:
Judith ain’t sure
You were always unloading
Soft on the weight of your palm and your hand
Bastard with a passport to the old destinations
Bastard with a map of the palm of your hand
You were always: «Shut him out.»
You were always:
Sun, Dash of White Light
A night that has passed
Has passed into the records of all
That the little record keepers fear
Dear Mary-Anne, Bastard of Light
I swept your flax bang, I swept into the currents of the river where
Judith ain’t sure
Oh Man, it was you: did you ever think of a bad idea?
Because the river is bad, the river is cold
How was the King, was he sad, was he cold, was he low?
Put your hand on my face, row away from the grief-stricken man
Put your trust in my fate, I shall track that abrasive wasteland:
We are richer in love, but you know: You just can’t have it