You were my Queen of rust
with your china doll hands and terracotta hair
lady of want and broken trust
friend of wild dog, promised to be fair.

A bush fire against a summer's rain
you are every little ache and pain
Open eye as the clock races by
a ghost town
torn down
again and again...

Let yourself dream in the mystery of sundown
but, where has your lover gone now?
Off to a land lush with the green of sycamore
the promise of something that again, has been found.
She has no use for a dessert or
a woman made of many shades of brown
when there was so much more color
before you came around.