Still life scene, parked by the curb;
streetlight gleam, do not disturb
the delicate dance of rhythmic romance -
grinding on the glove compartment, aching to advance
as the air turns cold, thunder rolls;
hair on end, a single bell tolls.
Bodies half bare, I mumble a prayer.
She flashes me a smile, whispers, "Now take me upstairs."
Bell tolls three, bell tolls four -
who could be locking my door?
Dark drapes drawn, dead by dawn,
blood bespattered banister, buried neath the lawn.
Table for two, pooling the rain;
storefront fool dreaming of Marseilles.
The smokestacks cough, the birdies fall off,
tarnishing the tarmacadam - lying in the loft,
lovers lilt and sigh, not quite dry;
candlelit floor, shadows crawl by;
hardwood dreams, sirens scream
seven stories separate swathed in manhole steam.
A live record from the legendary Diamanda Galás finds the artist exploring the outer fringes of pop with only her voice and a piano. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2024