Someone whispered on a fiddle,

a siren blew a horn and stretched

out long notes that slung slow rope

around my baby's neck.

Man came with tape and a pencil,

cut him and coloured him in greys;

cast a net and like a marionette

out in the breeze he sways.

My man looks sorry,

now he's nobody

these melancholy days.

 

An accomplice of the devil,

a Jezebel in disguise

fixed manacles to his ankles

and blindfolded his eyes.

He suffocates and strangles,

I miss the jazz and the jive,

but some sorcery is forcing me

to witness his suicide.

My man is swinging,

can't hear me singing

these melancholy times.