(Brewster-Neeson-Brewster)

(Remember looking at the haunted grace bow down to the storm?

remember searching for a familiar face with no one there

to mourn?)

Staring at silent screens

plastic tubes to carry fading dreams

preacher, servant in their hall

warm blood on the palace wall

those who dine alone in hell

wearing grief in their lapel

drop small change in wishing wells

the haunted tear that never fell

someone's dragging a ball and chain

looking for you in the pouring rain

while those who care give silent prayer for lovers going home

If there was a brickwall surrounding the New York scene

if there were secrets locked in steel

if there was a button you could press on the luck machine

if there was a place for wounds to heal

if you were borne in the barbwire of your mother's womb

if you were hungry before you died

if you say you left your bath all clean and white

you know, I know you lied

remember the poet who said it first

he was speaking of you and your difficult birth

how you can say a prayer for lovers going home

Drinking from an empty cup

waiting for the rot to grow

distant sounds that can't be heard

and no one knows

children who don't mind the rain

yet have no wish to die

whatever your own world could've been

you'd feel better if you could cry

Dawn is breaking in the graveyard

People massing in the street

trampled heards beneath their feet

children playing with the dead

silver spoon stained with red

watching through a widow's veil

as Caesar desecrates the Holy Grail

you sit all alone in your front row seat

you look so small and frail

you're mud on the feet of the men you've damned

you're darkness come too soon

you should