Cassandra's Girls

What is in the glow of a moonless night? Drops of sadness on shattered glass, Blinding blankness in a clandestine plight Or a pretty orphan girl, alas. She sways along the roads, so bright She wears the sunshine and the rain, She cries when the street-dogs fight She has no worries, no one to blame. What is in the strand of a bald man's hair? Stains of sin on a crumpled shirt, Questions meandering like a murderer's dare Or a pretty orphan girl's dirt. She swoons between heels of fame, She smiles through cigarette smoke, She applauds this perfidious game, She gets raped, a random bloke. What is in the noise of a fly on a corpse? Lumps of shame on a naked canvas, Innocence lost with childlike remorse, Or a pretty orphan girl, Cassandra's. She listened to the dimming of the holy light, She searched for angels in a forlorn place She drank her tears to honour her might, They orphaned too, her pretty face.