The sky was Bible black in Lyon.
When I met the Magdalene.
She was paralysed in a streetlight, she refused to give her name.
And a ring of violet bruises, they were pinned upon her arm. Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand. To a room of dancing shadows, where all the heartache disappears; and from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear, ”‘J’entend ton coeur”, I can hear your heart.