The Venetian

The staggering wind of the winter is blowing and
he stands in the window, forgets where he's going so
he paces and traces curved lines with his fingers as
questions like strangers haunt him and linger

The Venetian is pale and his eyes are still sinking, the
woman he bedded is smoking and drinking and
the sermon, it echoes from deep in the steeple but
his heart is crippled by good and evil

He places his glasses inside his old raincoat to
remind him to look in the street for his angel but
as he goes stumbling throughout the black market he
trembles beneath the weight of his darkness

The Venetian is pale and his eyes are still sinking, he
mentions to patrons that he has quit drinking but
he finds himself speaking words from the steeple for
his heart is aching for good and evil

The schedule of trains, it is scrawled on his wrist so
that he remembers where he is missed and
the train screams like wind that is fervent and blowing, he
steps out of his window as it starts snowing

The Venetian is pale and his eyes have stopped sinking, the
conductor is screaming, the train is still bleeding but
the words of the sermon are heard in the steeple for
his heart is empty of good and evil