Texty: Cousteau. Nova Scotia. She's Not Coming Back.

The orchard's golden leaves
are burning down
fire closing in
the fruit is blistering
above you
How can such a pleasure
be regarded as a sin
A ray of sun limps
slowly around the room
wolves are at the door
baying for their pound
of flesh but he's gone
and it's impossible to
hurt you anymore

They circle in the sky
She's sick of holding back
the tide
She pulls the darkness shut
behind her and says goodnight
She's not coming back

I wish that you were here once
more with me
in the night somewhere
Loveless days and grey eyed
mornings
pass beneath the window of
another dreary day