[Verse 1]
She walks in the cold dark hour before the morning
The hour when wounded night begins to bleed
Stands at the back of the patient queue
The silent almost sweeping queue
Seeing no one and not being seen
[Verse 2]
Working shoes are wrapped in working apron
Rolled in oiled-cloth bag across her knee
The swaying tremor soaks the morning
Blue grey steely day is dawning
Draining the last few dregs of sleep away
[Verse 3]
Over the bridge the writhing foul black water
Down through empty corridors of stone
Each of the blind glass walls she passes
Shows her twin in sudden flashes
Which is the mirror image, which is real?
[Verse 4]
Crouching hooded gods of word and number
Accept her bent-backed homage as their due
Buckets steam like incense coils
Around the endless floor she toils
Cleaning the same white sweep each day anew
She walks in the cold dark hour before the morning
The hour when wounded night begins to bleed
Stands at the back of the patient queue
The silent almost sweeping queue
Seeing no one and not being seen
[Verse 2]
Working shoes are wrapped in working apron
Rolled in oiled-cloth bag across her knee
The swaying tremor soaks the morning
Blue grey steely day is dawning
Draining the last few dregs of sleep away
[Verse 3]
Over the bridge the writhing foul black water
Down through empty corridors of stone
Each of the blind glass walls she passes
Shows her twin in sudden flashes
Which is the mirror image, which is real?
[Verse 4]
Crouching hooded gods of word and number
Accept her bent-backed homage as their due
Buckets steam like incense coils
Around the endless floor she toils
Cleaning the same white sweep each day anew
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