i saw salem bursting april from my window seat
there i met mary
she not the type who’d want to marry me
our conversation was of honeyed lips and rosy cheeks
and the men she’d met and loved and lost again… this week
i said “what’s the reason for your reckless optimism?”
she said “no reason no rhyme
it’s just my disposition
it’s just my disposition.”
there’s a golden child in the spires above this town
he lifts his trumpet to the sky
and sets his feet upon the ground
i said to mary “don’t you know there’s something more than this?
and i’m not smiling but that doesn’t mean that i’m always depressed
it’s just hard to talk about the things that make me who i am
but i know suspicion, apprehension, so you know i understand.”
there’s a golden child in the spires above this town
he lifts his trumpet to the sky
who’s he calling down?
mary turned away
she’d barely heard a word i’d said
she watched the trees and smiled the smile you see
when ember eyes are dead
then she turned to me, with sadness welling in her gaze
“you know i’ve been living my whole life ‘till now
and never did betray
a single feeling
a solitary sincere face
i hope it’s not too late for me”
she stood to leave
the bus was on it’s way
there’s a golden child in the spires above this town
he lifts his trumpet to the sky
and sets his feet upon the ground
