Black Madonna

In a forest full of angels as the night is closing in down a path that leads in circles to the place where you begin chasing shadows on the beaches neath the burning mid-day sun counting waves upon the ocean but they all add up to one silent as the whisper of a moonless starlit sky when I ask the question why she cries Black Madonna only smiles There's a turnstile at a station for a train that used to fly down the twisted rails of fortune racing providence and time beneath a broken carriage nests a single pure white dove like a gentle rising Phoenix from the raging storm of love fragile in her innocence with the wisdom of a child when I ask her what she feels inside Black Madonna only smiles Through a gate into a courtyard where tangled roses bloom past a torn and dusty curtain hides a lonely darkened room where the ghosts of heartless lovers fade in scattered photographs long forgotten treasures hidden memories of the past like a cave inside a jungle where the sun refused to shine when I ask the question why she hides Black Madonna only smiles There's a turnstile at a station for a train that used to fly down the twisted rails of fortune racing providence and time beneath a broken carriage nests a single pure white dove like a gentle rising Phoenix from the raging storm of love fragile in her innocence with the wisdom of a child when I ask her what she feels inside Black Madonna only smiles