2022-11-02_08-11-45

carries him home in a beautiful boat

He watches the sea from a porthole in stowage

He can hear all she says as she sits by his bed

Then one day his lips answer her in her own language

The days quickly pass, he loves making her laugh

The first time he moves it's her hair that he touches

She asks "Are you cursed?" He says "I think that I'm cured"

Then he talks of the Nile and the girls in bull rushes

In New York he is laid in a glass-covered case

He pretends he is dead, people crowd round to see him

But each night she comes round, and the two wander down

The halls of the tomb that she calls a museum

Often he stops to rest, but then less and less

Then it's her that looks tired, staying up asking questions

He learns how to read from the papers that she

Is writing about him and he makes corrections

It's his face on her book and more and more come to look

Families from Iowa, upper West-siders

Then one day it's too much, he decides to get up

And as chaos ensues, he walks outside to find her

She's using a cane, and her face looks too pale

But she's happy to see him, as they walk he supports her

She asks "Are you cursed?" but his answer's obscured

In a sandstorm of flashbulbs and rowdy reporters

Such reanimation, the two tour the nation

He gets out of limos, he meets other women

He speaks of her fondly, their nights in the museum

But she's just one more rag now he's dragging behind him

She stops going out, she just lies there in bed

In hotels in whatever towns they are speaking

Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold

And one day the dry fig of her heart stops its beating

Long ago on the ship, she asked "Why pyramids?"

He said "Think of them as an immense invitation"

She asks "Are you cursed?" He says "I think that I'm cured"

Then he kissed her and hoped that she'd forget that question

Done