Airborne Toxic Event (The)
April Is the Cruelest Month
We imagined ourselvesAs cathedral bellsRinging out through the moribund streetsLike shrill courtesans Making fanciful plansThat we whispered while drifting to sleepAnd I told you I'd stayIn every possible wayThough we both knew that that wasn't trueYou said "You would understandIf it was something so grandAs a mirrored reflection of you"And New York in OctoberWas never so soberAs the beating on the windows in MarchTrying so hard in vainTo stay out of the rainFalling off our cathedral archYou were (?)You were (?)You were Miss Cleopatra in heelsAnd anonymouslyYou were April to meSongtexteThrowing rocks just to see how it feelsBut those lines in your eyesAnd that platinum crownAnd that gaudy red rouge on your cheeksYou must look so sublimeWith some Neophyte charmBut you look like a common whore to meBut I liked you the bestIn your plain simple messDrinking wine from a pink, plastic cupWhile the radio playedSome soft serenadeAnd we noticed the sun coming upAnd the blue in your eyesLooked like ice when you criedAnd you always felt so cold when we touchedHappy birthday to youI sure hope it's not trueEven though I don't miss you that much
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