The Mourner

At the corner of Bix and Forner
there's a lady, a mourner
The eyes go on no detour
they know why they're there for
and the tears fall without fear
to the ground, a sound wet as beer
But the feelings don't adhere
the guineas they steer
and come tomorrow, there's a sorrow
completely new, the lady's said her adieu
to whoever they buried
(a lone sod, never married)
and her tears, already on the next ferry
paid by the bastard who slayed
(the irony, oh you don't say)
But that's the life of a mourner
laughed the lady at Bix and Forner




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