It was cold out,
as cold as the hands of an old diabetic.
I lit my cigarette on the closest star
and ducked into the joint.
It was red inside, and blurry
The man on the stage
played the sax syncopated. Like
a man with two left feet.
The suspect looked the part.
He was as crooked as the poster
you hung in a hurry,
before the guests arrived,
the week we moved in.
You looked the part,
that first night at the bar.
When I ordered a drink.
Before you broke my heart.
Felix Deiss
DCC: Deiss Composition Collection 