A dirty moon spills its secrets over the bay
And the night sweats blood in this sinful hour
While she is in another man’s bed.
She is the soiled bed sheet
She is a half smoked cigarette
She is a stained mirror in the dirty motel room
She is the lurid green wallpaper
She is a late night TV show barely visible through the static
She is the dusty table lamp that is a black hole sun
She is in another man’s bed
And her eyes reflect neon truths, in this, the witching hour
When a dirty moon confesses its sins to the bay
And the night sweats blood
As tears seal her lips with lies.