RATTLEBOX

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Michael Kiel Cash

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Well this worn out jacket
Hasn’t given up the ghost just yet 
Go on and don that cowboy slicker 
Find what dreams does it beget

And that beat up old guitar
Has still got a tune or two
Don’t be shy, let fly on that rattlebox, baby
And see what blows on through

What blows on through, what blows on through 
Don’t be shy, let fly on that rattlebox, baby
And see what it does to you

Slide between bronze strings serene 
Find headstone and the broom
This clan began in the hexagram 
Where the cauldron meets the pew

A bolted door on the second floor 
Two tables in the light of the moon 
And on your flesh a second guess 
As you feel what blows on through

What blows on through, what blows on through 
And on your flesh a second guess
It's you that turns the screw

The eye that haunts the confidant
peers through your cheap perfume
The crone has come and your precious one’s 
Black hair is in her loom

Flee between the shoulder blades 
The shattered glass a clue
Take the cloak, Her names invoke 
To become what blows on through

What blows on through, what blows on through 
Take the cloak, Her names invoke
But know the crone is you

Sip a tulip chalice made
To show the future’s hue 
Sacrifice a paradise
Break through the night’s taboo

Dream is told, no ends unfold
The mirror’s dance ensues
Step beneath the stars unsheathed 
And kiss what blows on through

What blows on through, what blows on through 
Step beneath the stars unsheathed
And kiss what blows on through

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