The Clash Of Sane And Bane
Beyond the hills, the storm,
oh, yellow queens they quake;
poor Autumn aspens feel
old weight of weakened leaves
the hostile winds will steal.
Beyond the hills the storm
it brews, like coffee black.
A bitter sky will fall
—dainty saintly sunlight
a martyr for the squall…
Beyond the hills the storm,
My dreams in strobe-light flash.
Engage in shadow dance
the clash of sane and bane;
a silk and burr romance.
Beyond the hills the storm—
yes banshee gonna wail!
The gray steel rain a strafe
a suitor six-shooter.
My tongue; a silent waif.
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