he puts his hand around her neck
and then begins to fret her
quietly at first she softly moans
and cries to some crescendo

he grips her tighter sliding
his fingers to her chords
she wails man she wails
filling the air as she soars

we've come to a crossroads
he sings, the deals made now
you're a plucking wooden woman
with your warm curve in my lap

but I'd make a deal
with the darkness itself
to hold you in my hands
to the end of our blue songs

© agoodguy2have 2010-02-22