hbd (a lil late) frank, to whom i (and so many) owe so much

tonight the gars on the trees are swords in the hands of knights
the stars are like twenty-seven dancing russians and the wind
is I am waving goodbye to the casket of my first mammy
well that black cadillac drove right up to your front door
and the chauffeur was death
he knocked on the screen he said come on woman let's take a ride
he didn't give you time to spit he didn't even let you
take the iron out of your hair