Old Matilda Brown has been in the ground
For a hundred years or more
Ive been around in this sea-port town
And ive seen your face before
Ive heard your twilight choir echo, across the silver bay
the flowers on old Matilda’s grave have withered and gone away
On an orange moon a lonely boy sought his wild and hopeful dream
A ferry to Frisco she harbored on through fog and smoke and steam
That night Matilda woke again, though no-one lived to tell
all her ribs were broken and her gown was ripped to hell
A shooting star i saw, but how could it be so close
Matilda flew above my home, i could see her white gown wave, her flushed cheeks and raven hair, her ruby toes twinkling a hundred friscos into my eyes, her iron cross alone on her chest dark silver steel burnt into her bare skin, flaming sword raised to the grey bridge
Unbeknownstedably to her this witch maiden bequeathed to me a an ember
From the sword of her sister
And i saw then her sisters great great great grandson
Who tread through ivory snow and burning sand
For to reach the last sand dune, and take a maidens hand.
His hopeful heart so light and free
In my silence i couldnt warn him, i wasnt sure what i could do
Matilda killed the boy, and his dancing partner too
Her body returned, but her gown didnt make it
Burned to a crisp over the water
And that was the day, i always will say, that the silver city turned grey.