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Sweating it out in my room. |
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Barefoot and unbuttoned to the waist. |
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The street car runs all night |
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and I can't wait. |
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So meet me down behind the abattoir |
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with the last of the summer kings. |
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Meet me down at the lake. |
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I said, "these waves come in from California." |
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You said, "these waves are all brand new," |
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and "summer is easy |
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living in the city downtown." |
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Thieves in the city. |
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Bees in the flowerbeds. |
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Kissing downtown and then the sun come up. |
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In your summer dress you said, |
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"a culture with shaking breath, I want it now!" |
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Well in my mouth the sun will sound |
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when that evening sun go down. |
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Down to the lake, past the windmill like a fireball |
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through your broken window. |
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Down to the lake with shaking breath and the bloody owls |
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at the end of summer racket. |
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You said, "tonight we can't be held by fences or by chains." |
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Down at the lake with a bad moon shining in the waves. |
