My love, she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true like ice, like fire.
People carry roses
And make promises by the hours,
My love, she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.
In the dime-stores and bus-stations
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love, she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.
The cloak-and-dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles,
In ceremonies of the horsemen
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of matchsticks
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.
The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer
And the night blows rainy,
My love, she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.