Written by: Tony Bush

The lapse takes place in moonlight,
Curtained behind the rain,
Where the raucous chimes of midnight
Mock with their cracked-ice refrain;
The gut-churning whiskey of sorrow
Swills on the palate of fear,
And the cigarette breath of tomorrow
Spills through memorial beer.

Resurrecting the buried and burning
Raised from the shallowest grave,
She never was one much for turning,
No mercy to strain or to save;
Unto the breach, once more to divine,
If the end calls a curse on the fates,
The recidivist heart in a step-like decline
Fibrillates as it anticipates.