Reading the Midway
I was reading the midway
by the light of the moon
I considered my virtue
I could smell your perfume
There was whispering somewhere
voices speaking in runes
in the pools of the lamplight
and the white face of the moon
Well I practice my sainthood
I take my saviors to bed
Some days I walk with the devil
some days I speak with the dead
But I carry a church key
when the moon’s on the wane
Some days I’m looking for Jesus
but he’s so far away
I was reading the midway
by the light of the moon
I considered my virtue
I could still smell your perfume