You came home wet from February rain
The train station was less a train
And everyone knew but couldn’t say
Was it madness from the mistral rain?

You were stealing peeks in between the cracks
You reminded me to watch my back
The sirens howled with flashing lights
You reminded me of Mr. Saturday Night

You turned a little girl’s name into a transitive verb
And twist ‘til it’s profane and profoundly absurd
The truth soon forgets itself in the noise
And she closes her eyes to the nasty little boys

And they come inside

Down by the path where the willow grows
There lays a body that nobody knows