You can be whatever you want to be
Pomegranates splashed against white lingerie
A ghost in the sheets, a silhouette in a slip
The ash on the end of what burns between lips
Pale in the morning and scarlet at night
Rose in the centre of Turkish delight

The candle is burning, it’s down to the wick
Sights have been set on a clock that won’t tick
Still you give thanks, but you’ll never be peace
In a storm on the mountain, with blood on the beast
Pillars have crippled and crumbled to dust
Drunk on the limerence that feeds on your lust

You’ll spin your records and you’ll dance your reels
A waltz at the funeral and wine between meals
Vacant rooms and a deed that’s been done
Found in forgiveness, the prodigal son
No martyr, no slumber, no woman in haste
Behind somber eyes where images waste

Bones have rattled like the bottles you break
And rubble has risen in its crumbling wake
The white dawn has climbed behind a Clyde view
Where fire has burned to make way for the new
Spring daffodils dance, wear your white dress
A woman who’s seen, and seen for her mess.