let's go out and see darling
what shines tonight
and temper your dream about the dying horse
with traffic, noise, and light
and somewhere the soft-handed boys,
bleeding hearts, and worker bees
give to the holy mother begging change
Christ across her knees
and oh how she prays to find a man to blame
for every loveless night she waits
and for every gun that she frowned upon
but still some fucker made
and then for the kid beneath the balcony
behind the garbage can
who waits for the king to come
and hold his sweating hand
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