Glamour (a funeral in corn)

We lie, beneath tequila skies,
'neath the sigh of the shifting sands,
Wont you hum, my lover, that melody,
While we dance round, hand in hand?

Oh when, dear friend, will we lie again,
Beneath that sea of green,
And point out wonders, two by two,
And dance to a tambourine?

Oh careless glamour,
Oh glamour's madness,
That old tip-toeing lie.
We drowned her long before the snow,
Joined the shifting sand and sky.

Your box of sounds, long rusted shut,
Hosts a mournful shadow play,
With the whistling embers, dust and soot,
Singing softly in the hay.

Oh dance, dear lover, spread yourself about!
Melt your flesh into the corn,
Before cold lips forget the words to shout,
And wither, dead, forlorn.

As a sunbeam dear, though you're far from here,
As a falling star or stone,
I'll come to you, to your heart and hearth,
To your flesh and hair and bones.

To that place where once, before the snow,
'neath tequila skies we lay.
Where the ember's glamour cast its glow,
And kept us warm within the hay.