in the faith salons they do your nails for fifteen dimes a bottle, where
someone in the darkness waits for your arrival
in the faith salons the deals are struck, making heroes out of dust and clay
the man gives you sixty seconds on the dollar, and walks away
in the middle of your book of ages you write your dreams down to the letter
tired of second chances and singles dances
her robes were purple velvet feeling like the king of cairo
prisoners to fools and slaves to paper gods
in the faith salons

the books of massacres and natural disasters,
beguiled by belligerence learned from the dancing masters
the child on the train was a mimic mime of babble
the mother knitted sweaters that the child would unravel
in the faith salons

they have medicines for madness, madness caused by drugs,
something for your headache and a spray to kill the bugs
you walk the catwalk of polyphony, and your charades of destiny
to whose myth of creation will you finally fall upon your knees and cry for forgiveness denied
in the faith salons

she'd appear like a belligerent ghost in my dreams,
in my living room, all torn apart and blue,
where the ribbons flew and the sky tore like a sheet of rain, of dust
peace is a distant mirage where the only truth is the path and chance the only landmark in the desert
sleeping in doorways underneath the falling frescoes, she'd say, it's your pain in the faith salons