A Widow's Toast

Specters move like pilot flames Their widows toast at St. Angel Better times collide with now The tears are warm, I feel them still Their heat to vapor and disperse And cloud our eyes with weary glaze You raise your glass and may exclaim "I'll put my hands on the truth by God" But it's faster, love, than you and me Faster than the speed of gravity That's how it catches you from falling And how it always, always, always slips away Specters move like pilot flames Their widows toast at St. Angel Better times collide with now And better times, and better times Are coming still