Two glasses on a glass-top table
Lights are low, the ashtray's full
He talks of all his conquests--
Letters ringed with hearts and crosses
He left them in the drawer (at Hotel Noir)--
Unanswered, yet he read them for her time and time again . .
She looked clean through him
And told him how she loved white horses
Riding on a swing and laying in a cornfield
On a warm summer's night. She'd watch the dancing lights
Alone but never lonely--until now
He ordered whisky but the waiter walked clean through him
He sadly shook his head, and lit his fifteenth cigarette . .
And slowly, surely pictures formed he never could forget . .
Loretta sent him sea shells, Henrietta sent a rose
And Margaretta said they'd marry in a letter that he'd never answered
(left it in the drawer at Hotel Noir . . .)
And she said how she loved the sea at full moon
Running down a silver beach with silver ribbons trailing from her hands
She found a doorway in the sand where she'd store away her stones
Precious stones that could be diamonds, just because they sparkled in rain
And there she'd sleep, and there she'd dream. And there she died
The tide rolled backwards and it dried and left a headstone made of salt
The warm breeze turned to steam
And even the vegetables screamed and screamed and screamed . .
He stretched his hand out just to touch her--but she said she had to leave . .