The dry tears he wept in the silent car
as the accelerator made a hollow roar
and his wide glass eyes stared down the solemn midnight road

His frail hands trembled
as he pulled into the empty lot
he remembered how he had been young just last week.

And as he climbed the echoing concrete steps
he flew back to the endless nights atop this very roof
where words and wine had once flowed unstoppered

And where he had met a young girl
And lived a fiery life, if just for the night
And smelled perfume against the crisp air

But how far away he was
standing lone among his ghosts
as the wind blew and chilled him to the bone

Instinctively his hand went to his unfamiliar cheek
How wrinkled and worn was this old man's face
Where fires had once burned in the city-windows around
All was now dark

The air smelled of a cigar's smoke and he felt nauseous
and caught in his eye the hospital, a beacon in his mind
And turned away as he thought of fallen angels
And fresh tears ran down his very old face
Which surely was young just last week