Ceiling cracks like river maps
I trace them with a cigarette
The city hums its evening mass
Through windows I have never met
Spleen and ideal, spleen and ideal
One foot in the gutter, one on the cathedral
Something beautiful is rotting in the light
I can smell the flowers but they're blooming out of sight
Perfume lingers on the stair
A woman's laugh, a slamming door
I built a temple from the air
Then watched it settle on the floor
Spleen and ideal, spleen and ideal
One foot in the gutter, one on the cathedral
Something beautiful is rotting in the light
I can smell the flowers but they're blooming out of sight
Four walls and a clock that drips
Dust on every sacred thing
My hands remember what my mouth forgets
The weight of almost happening
The sky bends low like funeral silk
The angels trade their wings for lead
I pour the poison, drink the milk
And lay the table for the dead
Spleen and ideal
Spleen and ideal