Ash Halo Blues

Well the night wore a raincoat and silence lost the fight My guardian angel tipped his hat and said, “I’ll be back tonight” He folded up his wings like maps and fluttered for a laugh Said “There’s a corner store on Eighth - I’ll grab a pack and a half” The oak tree cleared his throat, the alley took a drag By the time the moon came down to check my mailbox, he was lagged My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back Left his halo in the ashtray, his footprints on the track The fog wrote his name on the window and the morning kept it black My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back The bartender wiped his hands and hummed a hymn of spare change The piano played like someone tryin’ to remember his own name I asked the moon just for a witness, blinked like an old man’s eye Said “He lit a match, said ‘Be right back,’ then shuffled off to die” Not of fire or of fever, just of something small and sly Like a promise with a hole in it where the moon slips through and flies My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back Left his halo in the gutter, his polaroids in my pack The city ate his shadow, coughed it up in a railroad stack My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back I went down to the corner where the saints pawn their shoes There was a policeman prayin’, a child wishin’ blues A preacher sold me forgiveness for two coins and a snack But his ledger said, “No returns” - angel left without his hat I found his lighter in a puddle, the brass all bent and polite It clicked like a tiny chapel, tried to make the darkness right There was a lipstick on the jukebox, a ticket in the cat’s cold lap A little note in the battered hat that read, “Don’t wait - don’t nap” Maybe he just stepped out for a smoke, maybe he went to test the sky Maybe angels like the taste of trouble when the day turns sideways dry My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back Left a trail of blue confetti like a goddamn railroad track There’s a hole where my halo oughta be, and a matchbox with his lack My guardian angel went out for cigarettes and never came back So I light my own small candle, watch the smoke curl and rise If he’s playin’ cards with sinners or teachin’ rooftops to improvise Tell him keep the change and tell him don’t go thinkin’ that I lack If he swings by on a Sunday, tell him bring a pack - and bring it back Track from the album "Tin-Cup Valentine"