"Hell!" sang the young minstrel, "hang tightly to your purses!
Bitter winter on this blonde city and utter curses!"
The song ended and the onlookers did roar
Were I sincere, you bet I'd hear
A knock upon the door
"Hell!" went the Muse, intent, "you take me for granted!
You've made me a harlot, if I may be candid!"
The label dropped her, not before they shopped her in a bidding war
Were I sincere, you bet I'd hear
A knock upon the door
The tired minstrel, leaving town, heard the Muse's weeping
He turned up the Elvis tape in his grey car, creeping
"Sex and Death! Was I not the breadth among the two?" she poured
"Were you sincere, I bet you'd hear
My knock upon your door!"
He said, "Dear Muse, Come here! Need a lift somewhere?
You've got the wrong man, I was only kidding back there.
I worship you! Forgive me for behaving like such a boor.
I am sincere: I hope to hear
Your knock upon my door!"
"The Causeless Cause of Flawless Flaws has video on you." She scorned.
"Evidence, in none defense, should I have you burned, deformed.
Hey! Hell is real and so will be your sores!
Heck with sincere, hark, I hear
A knock upon the door."
The derisive Muse said, "your therapy isn't working, is it?"
Memphis huckster-Hitler-hustler! Aren't you a Clear yet?
Always brooding the meaning of sex, pretending to be poor.
Klock is here! Hark, I hear
A knock upon the door."
His head throbbed under her voice, ubiquitous and soft
Beads streamed from his hair, soaking his black t-shirt's cloth
Gut feeling was to leave her words on the cutting-room floor
He thought, "If I stay here, I'll never hear
That knock upon the door"
Muse, exhausted, peered the accosted, her hand on her abdomen
A human voice to her songs, she could not condemn
Because of a communion they had had of yore
The blessed day is near, soon they'll hear
A knock upon the door