She entered his morning like a bird
Licking her feathers she came
From the bottom of that continent bringing all of her
Feather suitcases and all of her dresses
He could see she was going to make
Some kind of name

Your faces great red with the morning
And by evening they’ll be redder still
In the bed in the centre of that room in the gloaming
At the bottom of that volcano
How could he have know the shape she’d take
Or how long she would stay?

Every morning she’d awaken with the flames
And they’d remain with her all day
The rape tongues of yellow that would sicken and bite her
Despise and allow and begrudgingly light her
He observed her fear so helplessly
When sleep took her away

The damned still get up in the morning
And they call it that even at evening
Rifling through your closet, she could never decide
What to wear so she took to staying home
Though her sex used to fall like petals and cover the street
Or fall all over your dream

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