Patty Reaper

The wind on the market place shifted again.
“Goes nice to her hair”, said the Saigon’s and friends.
At the Monogram Kick Lane, they wrote down her name.
They’re happy to be where the hanging ‘s a game.

The snapping, the cracking, the sounds of the throne,
that Viper Vienna will break all her bones.
Patty Reaper, Sing from your afternoon soul,
but save it for the Saigon’s – let Deborah go.

Your eyes in flirtation are five hours deep,
I saw them and learned a few things about me.
You know you can burn and obliterate time,
but please, Patty Reaper, respect some of mine.

The calling proceeds for a market place lynch
in a slow turning river of time on an inch.
Sing, Patty Reaper, from your afternoon soul,
but save it for the Saigon’s – let Deborah go.