My love, she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
Doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hour,
My love, she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.
In the dimestores and bus-stations
People talk over situations,
Read books and repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love, she speaks softly,
Knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.
Cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles,
In ceremonies of the horsemen
Even a pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of matchsticks
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she doesn't 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,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love, she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.