Lyrics Cure Of A Kiss - Count Zero

Cure Of A Kiss

I walk into this party half out of steam
Half in a dream
«Have fun,» she’d said
«You might as well be dead
For all I know.»
No one was gonna see
The hole from the heaven she stole out of me
The talk we just had about her handsome new prince
Left a taste in my mouth that requires a rinse
So I sneak down a pint of my Victory Gin
I take some cues from the news and I spit out a spin
While my soapbox is latherin' from the words I say
Well, the folks start a-gatherin' around.
And they stay
While I preach of maggots and their mad masquerade
And make everyone fret about the mess that they’ve made
And once every crime has been exhumed and displayed
I notice they all look ill, and just as dismayed
As me.
We’ve all lost hope in Hope itself
Meanwhile, Beauty’s gone to bathe in the pond
She’s wading shoulder-deep in the mist
Flirting with a frog on a frond
He’s waited all his life just for this
---Waited for the wave of a wand
Waited for the cure of a kiss
St. N____ comes to the party with a vision to recount
Rushing from the mount
He storms in, fresh off it
With the fervor of a prophet
Tears flow off his cheek
He’s got turds for the wicked and words for the weak:
He says, «The Meek shall inherit some bald, sick prize!»
But the clock pickpockets the cause from his eyes
And he voids his venom about six minutes in
Till he finds us a demon, and calls the loss Sin
Which brings back the fire to his cheeks and his chin
We brand him «Messiah,» tossin' tips in his tin
Till two hours later we’re converted, convinced
We’ve survived his cycle some sixty-six times since
And each time we hanker for that first wave of bliss
That rush, that sui generis, that primal pure kiss…
…But in the end, we just lose hope in Hope itself
Meanwhile, Beauty’s gone to bathe in the pond
She’s wading shoulder-deep in the mist
Flirting with a frog on a frond
He’s waited all his life just for this
---Waited for the wave of a wand
Waited for the cure of a kiss
I stumble through the party, half-hearing blurbs
Half-hearing her.
«Have fun,» she’d said
«You seem so removed, remote
You might as well be dead
For all I care.»
It was all she wrote
It was all I read