On a morning from a Bogart movie, in a country where they turn back time. You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre, contemplating a crime. She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolor in the rain. Don't bother asking for explanations, she'll just tell you that she came in the year of the cat.

She doesn't give you time for questions as she locks up your arms in hers. And you follow till your sense of direction completely disappears.

The literati in their cellarsPerform semantic tarantellas.I wish I did it half as well as them.

Movie queens diffuse into Cinema haze, while libertines read pornozines in street cafes.

Looking so cool, his greed is hard to conceal, he's fresh out of law school, you gave him a license to steal.

You reach out your hand, but you're all alone, in those time passages.

The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming.