• In This Deadend
  • They smell your breath.
    You better not have said, "I love you."
    They smell your heart.
    These are strange times, darling...
    And they flog
    at the roadblock.
    We had better hide love in the closet...
    In this crooked dead end and twisting chill,
    they feed the fire
    with the kindling of song and poetry.
    Do not risk a thought.
    These are strange times, darling...
    He who knocks on the door at midnight
    has come to kill the light.
    We had better hide light in the closet...
    Those there are butchers
    stationed at the crossroads
    with bloody clubs and cleavers.
    These are strange times, darling...
    And they excise smiles from lips
    and songs from mouths.
    We had better hide joy in the closet...
    Canaries barbecued
    on a fire of lilies and jasmine,
    these are strange times, darling...
    Satan drunk with victory
    sits at our funeral feast.
    We had better hide God in the closet.