Playfully, Miss Hurd

If all your black and white pictures start to turn brown,

And the pastels of your portraits, they seem blurred,

And all your ships of sanity start to go down,

Won't you swim to me, Miss Hurd?

If your audience gives up their precious hours

To your fantasy so frequently reassured,

While the shadow from backstage has left you flowers,

Won't you see through me, Miss Hurd?

If all of the boys you coerced into thinking

Give you their journals, and their word

That they'll stay out on your porch all night, drinking,

Won't you come near me, Miss Hurd?

If your bitter clones ever dare to kick out your ladder,

While overhead flies a turquoise bird,

And you don't know exactly what is the matter,

Won't you fly to me, Miss Hurd?

If your sunbeams spin and sleep becomes a battle,

In which you dream of a geisha and her nerd,

While the keys to your romance begin to rattle,

Won't you believe me, Miss Hurd?

But if all your cherry blossoms start to turn grey,

And your delicate waters are disturbed,

And the tower that you're locked in starts to give way,

Won't you go sweetly, Miss Hurd?