Midnight Pirouette

Down corridor B, little dirt town rest home,
Old Clare used to sit all alone;
Until James down the hall, come and paid her a call
And her heart seemed to rise up from stone.
At first just a look, then a hand on a hand,
And it was a one-two-three, don’t mind if I do;
And all in-between, some kind of romance took wing,
Clare and James climbed on it and flew.

Her silver slippers, his goofy grin,
He gave her wheelchair a spin,
What a lovely waltz, you’d be surprised, Time don’t forget,
The subtle turning of a midnight pirouette.

Bewitching hour, one harvest moon,
Old James wheeled Clare past the guard;
Two bony figures on the ground,
Don’t say a word, don’t make a sound,
Just like kids sneaking it under the stars.

Her silver slippers, his goofy grin,
He gave the lady such a spin,
What a lovely waltz, you’d be surprised, Time don’t forget,
The revolution of a midnight pirouette.

Life in the long run ain’t never a long enough one,
We want to pocket it like lint, like gold;
But it’s a real short story, with its turned up pages,
And all us characters waiting in line to unfold.

When James passed away, Clare kept to her room,
But only one single tear fell
Into her safe box of dreams where he’d been all along,
Where he’d stroked her skin, Ah, but she’d never tell.

Her silver slippers, his goofy grin,
If just a momentary spin,
But a lovely waltz, you’d be surprised, Time don’t forget
The subtle turning of a midnight pirouette.
The ever longing for a midnight pirouette… What a lovely waltz.