|
The sun was going down behind the tattoo tree |
|
And the simple act of an oar's stroke put diamonds in the sea |
|
And all because of the phosphorus there in quantity |
|
As I dug you digging me in Mexico |
|
There in the Valley of Scorpio, beneath the cross of jade |
|
Smoking on the seashell pipe the gypsies had made |
|
We sat and we dreamed awhile of smugglers bringing wine |
|
That crystal-thought time in Mexico |
|
Sitting in a chair of bamboo, sipping grenadine |
|
Straining my eyes for a surfacing submarine |
|
Kingdoms of ants walk across my feet |
|
I'm a-shaking in my seat in Mexico |
|
Grasshoppers creaking in the velvet jungle night |
|
Microscopic circles in the fluid of my sight |
|
Watching a black-eyed native girl cut and trim the lamp |
|
Valentino vamp in Mexico |
|
The sun was going down behind the tattoo tree |
|
And the simple act of an oar's stroke put diamonds in the sea |
|
And all because of the phosphorus there in quantity |
|
I dug you digging me in Mexico |