Helen

You'd gamble the sky, then look at me and moan, turn your face into a why, you say you miss the Blues, watching ships coming home, attend every wake as true, chase money like it was kind, salt and perfume far from home, caress me or at least try, stinking of some great fortune, smoking cigarettes forgetting to 'phone, maybe you can read the runes, call upon different tribes, listen to stories they intone, some'll gurgle some'll die, don't treat me as your wife, forage at some thing unknown, conceal all bitter ugly tones, make me want to fly.