Act II in four parts

When they say come a little closer

It means pallid butter rum
Cake served with black coffee, – a
Deciduous destruction
A falling

Nervy girl

I strike a match anyway,
Ignoring all the kindling
I know…

I adopt a saloon girl’s name

A certain dark spice, because I’m
A black mark match, and even if a
Spade’s an outright spade, and his
Tongue’s lapping up the dregs,
My heart is gone

It’s turning red-white

My heart I keep to myself; no one believes me
I’m going to marry the preacher man


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