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