Lay your dreams out on the table, honey
The soul pimp says in a whisper
She’ll decode their symbols, tell my secrets
As if she’s spilling gold at my feet.
Are my secrets
They’ve been here all along.
She throws the cards down knowingly
A sneering smile creeps in.
I feel like burnt tendrils
Waving in the wind, a choking wind
Me, unable to be rejuvenated
Can she do that, raise me from the dead?
Me, relegated to being crispy, pokey, sharp
For the rest of my life.
She turns the cards, speaking of secrets
Not mine, someone else’s
The secrets of someone living, not crispy
It’s in the cards.