singing folk sings for the remainder of the night

standing on shifting ground

almost afraid to look around

at the noise seeping in thru the floor

almost afraid to open the door

where there's a ghost with a drink

he's emptying his bottle in my kitchen sink

telling me i have no official permission to think

and with a trembling nod of my head

i start filling with dread

there's so much confusion and shouting and hate

i can't even decide what to put on my dinner plate:

should it be sausage and a baked potato with butter?

but like a ship in a storm without a rudder

i crash onto the shore and swallow sand

just before a damsel in distress offers me her hand

in the waning light of the day;

we look into each others' eyes and forget what to say.

she took me to the local chicken shack

where they grill their best meat on hot coals in a steel kettle out back

we had a bite,

singing folk songs for the remainder of the night,

dancing like lovers' when their bodies are feeling the drums,

dreaming like babies in cribs who are sucking their opposing thumbs.

she in glass slippers and i carrying my suitcase

running to our carriage ride for the thin air of outer space

and at the stroke of midnight

we had a bite,

singing folk songs for the remainder of the night,

pretending that hope was eternal and everything would be alright.