Из альбома: Beating Back the Claws of the Cold
as the rug rolls down all the worldly troubles become muffled
just a few minutes more they'll suffocate
as she leads your feet down a winding path not soon forgotten
you'll wonder how it got so late
but not enough to curse all the soil lost where the path is beaten
that soil learned to to contemplate
as the bus cuts curbs takes down a dozen aunts and uncles
only concrete will care when they call
and if their mouth has a lit cigarette the burning ash will find it's way to heaven
and its descendants they are all acid rain
and though the clouds spit fire every once in a while I'll be catching
a glimpse I'll pretend is sleet and snow
and if the boat backs up it'll wonder what has plagued like such an anchor
they'll find that they had sunk long ago
where would you prefer that I go - where would you prefer I go
part of change is more than coins...
part of me would rather not learn
part of the body is the bone...
part of birth is leaving home
part of keeping colors old... is beating back the claws of the cold