"hell!" sang the young minstrel, "hang tightly to your purses!
Bitter winter on this blonde city and utter curses!"
The song ended and the onlookers did roar
Were i sincere, you bet i'd hear
A knock upon the door
"hell!" went the muse, intent, "you take me for granted!
You've made me a harlot, if i may be candid!"
The label dropped her, not before they shopped her in a bidding war
Were i sincere, you bet i'd hear
A knock upon the door
The tired minstrel, leaving town, heard the muse's weeping
He turned up the elvis tape in his grey car, creeping
"sex and death! was i not the breadth among the two?" she poured
"were you sincere, i bet you'd hear
My knock upon your door!"
He said, "dear muse, come here! need a lift somewhere?
You've got the wrong man, i was only kidding back there.
I worship you! forgive me for behaving like such a boor.
I am sincere: i hope to hear
Your knock upon my door!"
"the causeless cause of flawless flaws has video on you." she scorned.
"evidence, in none defense, should i have you burned, deformed.
Hey! hell is real and so will be your sores!
Heck with sincere, hark, i hear
A knock upon the door."
The derisive muse said, "your therapy isn't working, is it?"
Memphis huckster-hitler-hustler! aren't you a clear yet?
Always brooding the meaning of sex, pretending to be poor.
Klock is here! hark, i hear
A knock upon the door."
His head throbbed under her voice, ubiquitous and soft
Beads streamed from his hair, soaking his black t-shirt's cloth
Gut feeling was to leave her words on the cutting-room floor
He thought, "if i stay here, i'll never hear
That knock upon the door"
Muse, exhausted, peered the accosted, her hand on her abdomen
A human voice to her songs, she could not condemn
Because of a communion they had had of yore
The blessed day is near, soon they'll hear
A knock upon the door
