From the album Ophelia

Ophelia was a bride of God, a novice Carmelite. In sister cells the cloister bells tolled on her wedding night. Ophelia was a rebel girl, a bluestocking suffragette who remedied society between her cigarettes. Ophelia was a sweetheart to the nation overnight. Curvaceous thighs, vivacious eyes, love was at first sight. Love was at first sight. Ophelia was a demigoddess in prewar Babylon, so statuesque a silhouette in black satin evening gowns. Ophelia was the mistress to a Vegas gambling man, Signora Ophelia Maraschina, mafia courtesan. Ophelia was a circus queen, the female cannonball projected through five flaming hoops to wild and shocked applause.

Ophelia was a cyclone, tempest, a goddamned hurricane. Your common sense, your best defense lay wasted and in vain. Ophelia’d know your every woe and pain you’d ever had, she’d sympathize and dry your eyes and help you to forget. She’d help you to forget. Ophelia’s mind went wandering; you’d wonder where she’d gone. Through secret doors, down corridors she’d wander them alone, wander all alone.

Natalie Merchant / Indian Love Bride ©1998