Gold Dust Woman

fast asleep in the garden
thunder storms have gone away
and somewhere in the margin
are empty dreams gone astray

canvas dark and sardonic
Phoenix with a golden brush
time, molten and symphonic
borne on the wings of a thrush

beware the silent trap door
echo’s emptiness rings true
stands a player and a clown
they are waiting for your cue

the black twilight settles cool
you hear the bells start to ring
get ready to play the fool
as the shadows start to sing