There's a red moon caught in the mouth of a glass, A little black salt where the good girls pass. You laid down a card with the Queen face-up; I read three fortunes in the way you picked it up. Your left hand knows what your right hand hides, Your shadow's got a body with the curtains drawn wide. You say there's nothing written, but the ink's still wet; I've read stranger scripture in a stranger silhouette. I don't need a blessing. I don't need a brand. I know the difference between a closed door And a door that understands. There's a devil in the veil, And the veil is in the eye. There's a little bit of truth In the sweetest alibi. Lay your cards upon the table, Keep your table off the floor. You can tell me nothing, darling— I've been listening to the door. There's a devil in the veil, There's a veil beneath the skin. You can call it what you want to, I can hear the wanting in. I was born beneath a crossroads where the blacktop meets the bone, With a pocket full of matches and no interest in a throne. I've kissed the hand of Fortune, let the Devil buy the round; Every road leads somewhere when you know how to get around. You can read me like a palm, but don't mistake me for a fate; I have danced with every hour that the pious call too late. There's a difference between surrender and the pleasure of release; One is giving up your freedom, one's the freedom underneath. I don't need a tether. I don't need a key. Some doors open inward. Some open when you leave. There's a devil in the veil, And the veil is in the eye. There's a little bit of truth In the sweetest alibi. Lay your cards upon the table, Keep your table off the floor. You can tell me nothing, darling— I've been listening to the door. There's a devil in the veil, There's a veil beneath the skin. You can call it what you want to, I can hear the wanting in. Three knocks on the threshold. Two cups on the sill. One name left unspoken. And the room standing still. Is the third thing a shadow? Is the shadow a guest? Is the guest just a question That your body answered best? I won't call it a calling. I won't call it a sign. But the hour has a hunger And the hunger has time. There's a devil in the veil, And the veil is in the eye. There's a truth that wants a witness And a lie that wants to try. Lay your cards upon the table, Let the candle gutter low. Some things aren't meant for keeping; Some are meant to come and go. There's a devil in the veil, There's a veil beneath the skin. No confession, no possession— Just the door, and what's within.
