The swamp grass is all frozen, all gold and dirty blonde.
The sun has just disappeared behind, the edge of the great beyond.
There’s a murmur in the shadows, and a whisper in the air.
Someone’s seen Sweet Tina, and she’s passed the point of care.
Said she’s taking on all comers. I said I don’t need to to know.
There are things you can’t unsee, and never tell and don’t show.