Sandie

Stepping up from the ghostly scene

by the manhole smoke machines

waiting for the coast to clear.

Playin' a tune with a tiny tone

on her ribcage xylophone

in a key that no one else can hear.

Sandie, what's that face about?

You've got so many rounds

yet to go,

and so many more nails to bend

before you reach the end

of the road.

Staring out through the window pane

at the pellets of pregnant rain

tapping out a drumroll down below.

Filling up all the cracks and dents

and high-fives in the hot cement

from the hands

you'll never get to know.

Oh Sandie, what's that face about?

You've got so many rounds

yet to go,

and so many more nails to bend

before you reach the end

of the road.

On a crystal night,

up on the canyon's side

I saw the western sky

turn to red.

But it couldn't touch the flames

burning up your brains

that I saw through the frames

in your head.

Sandie, what's that face about?

You've got so many rounds

yet to go,

and so many more nails to bend

before you reach the end

of the road.