The cold takes hold
As if the reaper is checking
To see if any goodness is left
The memory makes him smile
A women needs to be needed
A man needs to be loved
A grime compromise
Waiting for the notes to die
As the scotch bites the back of the throat
Grieving long goodbyes
The squall of everyday
As life gets in the way
All the Angels weep
Their beauty mystifies
Marble status cry
A song played on Bourbon Street
Only after midnight
Well before dawn
The piercing notes for the living
About the anguish of the dead
A place where even the locals are timid
Hazy smoke billows in the air
Dancing along with the lyrics
Calming the meanness in men’s hearts
The cold takes hold
As if the Reaper’s men are checking
To see if any goodness is left
The memory makes him smile
A women needs to be needed
A man needs to be loved
The difference is in the compromise
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