padre's lovely daughter

sometimes the earth quakes deep in June
late in the fading afternoon
while sun is singeing mud to clay
and sweat rolls off your pretty face

you said you never mean to stray,
"it just ends up like that...okay?"
from what i'm seeing through this haze
it seems you're better off that way

yeah, it seems
the world's become a bad dream

on your veranda stands a man
your hair like snakes coil 'round his hands
you bow your head to meet his chest
the sun is sliding down his neck
i grind a rose with my boot-heel
i smile real wide, 'cause i can't feel
he feels you up, under your dress
i guess that's just what you do best

yeah, it seems
the world's become a bad dream
yeah, it seems
the world's become a bad dream, a bad dream

a bad scene in some play
by a Mexican impressionist
who came from Zacatecas
speaking only broken English
writing cheap novelette fodder
with some Padre's lovely daughter
translating his mutations to the page, within the book,
within my hands...

i'll keep your wooden crucifix
and sleep with it under my pillow
i'll keep your picture packed away
'till it is faded, old and yellow
and when it seems
my world's become a bad dream
yeah, when it seems
my world's become a bad dream
i'll take a look at it
i'll take a look at it
at your smiling face within the picture frame







(april 5, 1993)