Sylvia Mae Gorelick - Ode lyrics

O to look up and see all sudden New York no longer blurred in a gauzy veil no longer mystified and blue but stunning to the last detail in easterly steel this is somebody's fate not mine you have to muse as all those train cars seem to roll around inside you endless the ghost of a doll-face cowboy James Dean on his way to d**h by oil and bourbon born to stamp out lies and build up new ones in a rich and barren landscape this is all murmur the tumbleweeds no horse will be shot in your place long over Mephistopheles always appearing when you least expect him out from the summer haze or restless eyes of a girl in love can't we be done with them by now? all masked in awful longing it was memory woke us up a boy who died means so much that it starts to fade out of our sight haven't come up into gray this way in ages it keeps arriving harbinger of an early nightfall and the force is gleaming un-recurring stream of dailiness we should resist and — then yield to the going off again all sharply dressed the devil is a jester O to think I'd die today in rose pearls with the martyr's face emblazoned on my youthful vision — all would be a sham my love so screams the d**hless organ and we come to water hateful glow on any stretch approaching some imaginary place the foot is bound to fall on how visible the docked sailboats wrapped up in shadow-play it plays us too and vaguely am I haunted by that Titian red but a canine face cast back in bliss or reverie could never conjure us — some paleness rising like a motorboat to greet us or announce the hero there he can't exist where we enfold him like a baited bird in our ideals the seasons are confused I'll have a hat instead of the sun! while the sandstorm thickens up in French Japan behind an escalating head and all our poverty of spirit and of sight the music listless coming through but there are voices in it warblers at their bright and sad parade under a quickly flattening sky so for a second you are sure the world is parallel in every inch its luminous topography and have to think again that it's a sphere unequal to the rest and perfect be it all a dream — I gather up some of my likenesses in time for the descent