Postcard from Lisbon

I read your postcards from Lisbon And tacked them on the wall Wrote of the house of your father and the visit you swore In the view from this prison Waters rush with dye A withdrawn invitation awaiting reply Torn page of brothers that you draw Storm waits for days It was a torn page discovered in the thaw Storm waits for days They circle the Mission Mapping all the haunts Tying the ribbons Left for the dawn Now ghosts in the harbor Hustle for a game Golden and crimson Are lost in the frame Torn page of brothers that you draw Storm waits for days It was a page of brothers that you draw Storm waits for days I read your postcards from Lisbon