the rain won't lift.
it moans a low,
lonesome sound,
gives no mercy.
a window opens.
"i'm a little lost lamb," she tells me.
and I look up and she smiles at me,
she always smiles,. "Maggie," I sigh.
"what are you doing out on a night like this?" she asks.
"i long to dream in black and white
of deserted city streets
to waltz down at night in a cold rain."
it's summer and Maggie's
hanging out the window,
streetlight in her eyes,
her long ***** blonde hair
getting wet from the rain
hangs down around her face.
the dreamer of all the good dreams.
i have to tell her, "Maggie, you're
so beautiful."
"come up. I'll tell your future."
I shrug my shoulders, "I know the future. you die."
"not with me." she laughs softly
like a summer breeze
and her smoky voice whispers,
"your getting soaked, come up
the fire escape."
"so you're the lost lamb," i laugh,
"then what am i? the beckoning scarlet knight,
the golden moth drawn to your fire?"
"there's no music, Jack, but you know
the song too well."
"who chooses who we are,
what we become?
"no pity for us lost lambs."
whether lost or found,
the way a bird knows the sky.
i always know that where ever
I drift
or whoever I might become
I'd can always
find my way back to Maggie's window.