April Is The Cruelest Month

We imagined ourselves

As cathedral bells

Ringing out through the moribund streets

Like shrill courtesans

Making fanciful plans

That we whispered while drifting to sleep

And I told you I'd stay

In every possible way

Though we both knew that that wasn't true

You said "You would understand

If it was something so grand

As a mirrored reflection of you"

And New York in October

Was never so sober

As the beating on the windows in March

Trying so hard in vain

To stay out of the rain

Falling off our cathedral arch

You were [?]

You were [?]

You were Miss Cleopatra in heels

And anonymously

You were April to me

Throwing rocks just to see how it feels

But those lines in your eyes

And that platinum crown

And that gaudy red rouge on your cheeks

You must look so sublime

With some Neophyte charm

But you look like a common whore to me

But I liked you the best

In your plain simple mess

Drinking wine from a pink, plastic cup

While the radio played

Some soft serenade

And we noticed the sun coming up

And the blue in your eyes

Looked like ice when you cried

And you always felt so cold when we touched

Happy birthday to you

I sure hope it's not true

Even though I don't miss you that much