The masks all burned by the chipped paint backdoor
Pick her up from the floor where the rug is a solace
She'll never be as old as the men she loves
Where she goes to secret clubs in order to find love
the black dress torn

And they all stood motionless on the bridge on the river
Feeling the world move below them
(and the turquoise fish glimmer, sun streaked, reflective beauty)
as some wild cosmic dance spins onwards
in the blackness of something or nothing

Where are your moonlight serenades now
or when do your flowers run dry
and how did you survive on these streets
as all these monsters pass by?