with menace and flare. I could never pull that off
but oh how i tried.
You, my boogie man, Why have you let go of my mystery,
yet unsolved. I haven't given up on you, the black mark
on my character, black as the night we had dreamed of
long ago, far away, in the fog of our shameless minds.
Would I one day wash you off my bloody hands,
like Mrs. Macbeth? like her, we haven't got a future,
it's all used up.
I wander the streets on wintery nights, wondering in voiceover
what am I in this noir story we've been telling each other,
bit by bit. A two-timing femme, a liar - not born but made by you.
I took to it like duck to water, like Bogart to Bacall,
I've perfected my darkness to match yours, and more.
No gun in my hand yet, don't you worry my love,
I could never shoot you down.
Isn't that what they always say, just before the shots ring out?
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