O'Keefe
Come with me now into a piece of velvet
And a plastic painter's daring dance of death
We'll journey very far into the surface
Those not used to diving hold your breath
The lady of my dreams paints scars of velvet
On the mirror are the words she chose to speak
And there the heavy hands that hang suspended
Wrote: The Easter undertaker's laughter breaks
Painter, she cried, it's mourning
She stared like a saint undone
Painter, she cried, it's morning
And we cannot find the sun
I offered her my cap and tiny shovel
Saying, surely this will hide you from the sun
I obtained it from a banker in depression
He was a memory from 1931
She butchers up her meat in careful quarters
Knowing the prize at stake is very high
And she builds a worn cliché into climax
Knowing she will barely get by
Lady, return my dream
It wasn't free, it's not for sale
Lady, return my dream
And let me go on with the telling of my tale
Her gentle voice cried quietly to thank me
It's nothing, the hollow answer said
I let her ride the railroad line to Nowhere
And left the lost survivor on her bed
Lady, return my dream
It wasn't free, it held my life
The portrait ends in a scream
Two hearts held together with a knife