I was pacing for distraction in a marble arcade
And heard somebody's voice
Talking to herself. She looked like Lauren Bacall
Palm trees in a line

"How can you dance in a suit when it's 80 degrees?"
And she turned to the keys to resume her writing

Water condensing on pipes in the loo
Red clay in the hall
I sit on the veranda revisiting scenes
I put them under review

I knew at the time we were through. i've not forgotten
The afternoon that she debuted her new sonata
With a cruel theme

Smokey in the deco of the city at night
Handwriting runs in the rain
Neon bottles blinking in a spasm of fog
I read what little remains

"How can you dance in a suit when it's 80 degrees?"
And she turned to the keys to resume her writing

Recollections like a mirror in a hot shower
Too humid to find
The chapel overgrown and her studio room
Glass staining the light

I knew we were through at the time­ I've not forgotten
The afternoon that she debuted her new sonata
With a cruel theme

It went like this: