Continued from Part 2
Ah Consuela! I’m watching as lightning at midnight in green Spanish eyes
Kindles cracks within crystals like flashes from pistols residing inside of the gloom,
And it hovers above us betraying a dove as she basks in the blackness of doom.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, distilling despair in her green Spanish eyes,
And the bitterness stings like the snap of the strings when a mandolin’s starting to sigh
As the vampire shades suck the life from charades neath the resinous residue sky.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she steps to the ledge with her green Spanish eyes,
For the terrace hangs high and she’s thinking to fly and abandon fate’s merry-go-round.
From the edge I perceive her and rush to retrieve her - she stumbles, falls far to the ground.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the sparkles a’ spilling from green Spanish eyes.
As I peer from the railing, with evening exhaling, I cry out a lover’s lament -
There she lies midst the crowd with her spirit unbowed, but her body’s all broken and bent.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she beckons me hither with green Spanish eyes,
And I’m slightly amazed being snared in her gaze and a’ swirl in a hurricane way,
But the seconds are slipping, my courage is dripping, the moment is bleeding away.
Ah Consuela! I’m touching, she weeps in the tears of her green Spanish eyes;
As the breezes cease blowing, her essence leaves, flowing, in streams neath the ambient light,
And the droplets drip swarming, so silent, yet warming, like rain in a midsummer night.
Ah Consuela! I’m holding, and hushed by the hints in her green Spanish eyes,
While her whispers are breathing the breaths of the seething electrical skeletal winds,
And the words paint the poems that rivers a’ slowin’ reveal where the waterfall ends.
Ah Consuela! I’m fading in fires that flicker in green Spanish eyes,
As she plays back the past, she abandons and casts away matters that no longer mend...
And she reached out instead, as she lifted her head, and we kissed as she parted, my friend.
Ah Consuela! I’m tangled, entombed, trapped in tales of your green Spanish eyes,
In forsaken cantinas beyond the arenas where night time illusions once flowed,
For the ash neath my shoulder still throbs as it smoulders some place near the end of the road.