There was a fight in the alley one night
tensions were tight as a band
one man had broken a bottle
and held it in his right hand.
An awful crowd had gathered around ’em
cheering them down in the dark
at first no one could hear the sound when,
all at once, it fell free as a lark.
The sound of Amelia singing
up in her room —
her notes fell soft as petals
seemed like they fell from the moon.
Her voice was the voice of an angel
the sweetest sound a man can hear —
it stole right away their anger
and all the darkness disappeared.
Even the one who was holding the bottle
it was as though he snapped out of a spell
and the other one hung his head too
both knew the voice so well….
Her song it hovered like heaven
hung in the invisible air
all the men went their ways —
me, I just stood there
hoping she’d hold a little longer
every note she’d sing.
and walking home that brutal evening
I could smell the flowers of Spring.