Many years ago,
on a warm summer night,
a throat was sliced
beneath the pale moon light.
Though the streets were calm
in the heart of the town,
she stood ten miles away
in a blood-drenched gown.
She slowly walked down to the river bed,
slipped off her dress
let down her long black hair.
And she’s lost in grief,
humming songs to the beach,
way out west Pacific Sea.
You are gone, so is she.
Blood was washed off her milk white skin,
and flowed down stream
erased her carnal sins.
She dressed herself in a pristine thread,
and walked to town,
took the first ride west.
While on the train a tear dripped from her eye, as she watched the hills gently roll on by.
I know she’s lost by the sea.
I know she’s awash in disbelief
in the west California breeze.
You’ve been gone, so has she.
Her mind was filled with regret and strife,
for the one she killed
was the love of her life.
As the weeks drew on without her face,
she slowly lost all of her charm and grace.
She walked through the streets
as though she had no name.
When she spoke
the wind always blew it away.
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