The Hymn for the Telephones

All the night the wind ruined up the pumpkin patch
and all that day old tennis balls all silk clued their catchesand I was in a sleeping back on the hall floor of the Patterson's
and I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above meCaroline on the telephone
a sugar so tanned in the sun
the look on her face is pricelesson the hall floor of the Patterson's not sleeping in a sleeping back
and I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above meCaroline on the telephone
a sugar so tanned in the sun
startling the cat with a struck match
the phone pressed tight against her ear like a sea shell
cigar smoke shadow on a blood ripped wall
lipstick stains and the telephone callsand I was in a sleeping back at the Patterson's in the hall
and I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above me
I could hear the telephone three floors above me