Текст T. Rex – Wind Quartets

The wind quartet howls softly
My jeep hand strokes her necklace
Crusted, crammed with old Etruscan gold.

Her bird head torn with summer

My goblet drenched with Autumn
Tears for my dead cat Ena
Silver Surfer sorcerer of spray.

She headed deep in chartreuse
A falcon glimpse of white teeth
Separated by lace cinnamon folds.

We hid and rid in hansom
Cab wrenched from lost Byzantium
Lordlett who once held the earth In chains.