Word Thingys: Salome Strangelove
Tight black dress, long dark hair, Venetian lips, eyes blue and fair
Her painted mask tilts to the right; he’s in her spell tonight
The party fog conceals the floor, they dance and dance — he still wants more
The fiddlin’ ends, he won’t take no, she says “I know a place to go”
So the tale the locals tell ends right there at midnight’s bell
Young men disappear without a trace; no one recalls the lady’s face
The legend lasts, they all know one — friend-of-a-friend’s long missing son
But getting lost is not a crime, and so the names all fade with time
To this day the school girls say:
“Each is hanging on the bare branch of a dead tree in a forsaken wood
In which there stands a house beside a river o’er which a cold wind shivers
It is not named on any map you’ve ever seen or ever will
Unless you feel the kiss of our beloved Masquerade Jill”
An inquiry of ten brave men were sent by church and crown in eighteen-ten
Hunted through September shine and rain; but by November not a one remained
Strangers come and go, Autumn’s ballet; the leaves blush colors, they play their games
A lottery of doomed gent suitors as from those careless souls she picks and chooses
“Each will be hanging on the bare branch of a dead tree in a forsaken wood
In which there stands a house beside a river o’er which a cold wind shivers
It is not named on any map you’ve ever seen or ever will
Unless you feel the kiss of our beloved Masquerade Jill”
Oh and you may say her price is far too dear
But it’s the only space on this spinning Earth where all women walk without a fear
And it is not named on any map you’ve ever seen or ever will
Unless you feel the kiss of our beloved Masquerade Jill