the moon is beating on this town
on the silent streets and all around
its crescent's growing larger every time i close my eyes

the burning lamplights on main street
on this deserted tuesday night
are calling for a sign of life to consume their fire

as the girl sits alone on a bench
she's waiting for a ride
or a moment of clarity
or perhaps she is not waiting for anything at all
and she's content to watch the streetlights and the moon... on the concrete


she's been there for as long as i've seen, maybe longer,
maybe she's always been there as a living statue
she commerates a saint who had fallen some years past
and she has drifted from the spotlight
and is nothing more than a shadow of a shadow

and her face, it is carved with a purpose
nobody knows this destiny, not even this girl
who sits alone on her bench under the moon and the streetlights
and stares at something in the distance, motionless


even the wind is asleep at this hour
the clouds are laying low on the horizon upon pillows of more clouds
and the soft orange glow of the sleeping sky casts down on the sleeping earth

and she will rise when the morning sun consumes the fog
and the soft orange glow becomes the fallen saint
hidden by the shadow of a shadow
burnt by the spotlight
invisible
gone