In the empty cornfield, under the stars,
you and I lay in silence, listening
to the guitar chords and the bass of cards.
Immersed in cigarette smoke, my christening:
you trace the smoky symbols with your fingers,
explaining how tomorrow never knows.
Voice waltzing in my ear, and it lingers
As you tell me I'm your Baltimore rose.
Stubbled chin pressed against my smooth cheek,
the 'click' of your plastic lighter, treble
to our midnight symphony. We don't speak,
the classic tale of a girl and her rebel.
Green eyes meet blue under the iridescence,
oh, the nights of adolescence.
