Archetypes
The virgin, the mother, the crone
If I could tear them to shreds perhaps I could love
They like to lurk in the dark corners
A laugh, a sigh, a word feels real…..
Then they whisper behind their antique veils
If they were real, that would at least be something
But ancient dreams dressed in “Chevrolets”
I cannot see her: wife, daughter, lover
For the virgin, the mother, the crone
The virgin, the mother, the crone
If I could tear them to shreds perhaps I could love
They like to lurk in the dark corners
A laugh, a sigh, a word feels real…..
Then they whisper behind their antique veils
If they were real, that would at least be something
But ancient dreams dressed in “Chevrolets”
I cannot see her: wife, daughter, lover
For the virgin, the mother, the crone