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It happened in the summer, not so very long ago. |
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It was so warm and humid Elsie would go down to the old wood and pray for |
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the wind to come. |
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She had a friend who swore you could evoke the angels simply by prayer. |
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She said \"There are angels for every desire but you must believe, you have |
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to believe.\" |
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So by the time the sun was buried along with the stale air a plan had |
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formed very clearly in her mind. |
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She was a lonely girl of around twenty or so, and as she knelt down to pray |
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in the old wood under the town, her heart would beg and plead: |
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I desire a partner in crime |
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I've grown tired of endless crying |
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I desire a partner in crime |
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I've grown tired of endless crying |
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Crying for nothing |
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And the roses hung their weary heads like people do when they are heavy |
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and without hope. The seasons passed January, February under the trees |
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and there were tulips amongst the firs. Elsie was twenty-three twenty-four |
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twenty-five and the underpass was dark and dense with light at the seams |
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where the trees were broken and the branches were reaching out for they |
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had witnessed her prayers, and there was promise in the wind, a promise |
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of better things. |
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I desire a partner in crime |
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I've grown tired of endless crying |
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I desire a partner in crime |
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I've grown tired of endless crying |
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Crying for nothing |
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The years flowed on and on like the wine that celebrated marriages of |
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friends and sisters. Elsie began to think that even if her wish |
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materialized she could not sacrifice a life that was so familiar: Lonely, |
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sad with an almost religious quality. |
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She remembered times spent in the old wood deep in prayer. Aching, |
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begging - thinking her heart might burst. Her friend had moved away |
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unannounced. She'd disappeared. There was no belief. And longer and |
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longer there was less to give. Less love to give. Of course there'd been |
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lovers but nothing close to what she'd hoped for. Before she'd felt electricity |
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swelling in her palms - but not now. Limp and hopeless life continued but |
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it wasn't really living. All she'd ever dreamed wished and yearned for had |
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been stolen and shot down: |
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And the sky it echoed a warning |
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And eternity was calling |
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And the sky it echoed a warning |
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And eternity was calling |
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Calling for nothing |
