Sweet Lorraine softly waltzed into the room
A Spider Woman on a hell-bound train
She silently wrapped me in her sweet cocoon
And tossed my weary soul out in the Rain
The Sunrise split my dream in two
I’m left with Echoes in the Dark
I turned a Blind Eye to the moon
And left Lorraine dead in the park
The hours passed and all my visions slowly slipped away
I sit here with guitar in my cold hands
I sing to celebrate The Magician’s Birthday
And weave lofty Tales of distant foreign lands
Sweet Lorraine left on the train and won’t return
The essence of her presence still remains
I think of her each time I spy her funeral urn
Her ashes are my mantle’s sweet refrain