Ghosts of Prospect Heights

A society lady, and a dignified death
Quiet sang amazing grace, on the old baptismal steps
Gone are the parties, and those sweet cigarettes
Gone is the absence of late Mr. Jones on the far side of the bed

How high, was that Brooklyn sky?
And how many mid-Julys did you burn through?
Good luck to miracle drug
It curses as it cures its way through you