The wound wrapped in song Lovers knew it all along Chances are that they know who she is The girl's a tiptoeing villainess Oh and the fire ladder's rungs are wet with rain And its ascent is a bargain Your hurried feet tread again and again Onto the ruptures margin Feeling the narratives of days boiling up in the airways Tell me to whom do you whisper yours It is night and it's stretched like a bed sheet Over the face of the day Rolled up trouser legs Wading through the memories Riling up the pond to get over to the one Sink into this mirror-puddle and cool your burning eyes Once there was space and a soft smiling face And the jab of breath that would reach me Now the world has contracted And her thin leather pants cling to a man, who smudges her make up with his crudeness Feeling the narratives of days boiling up in the airways Tell me to whom do you whisper yours It is night and it's stretched like a bed sheet Over the face of the day