|
as the two lanes slicken |
|
and the clouds they hug that ridge just stickin' |
|
when the wind that whistles knocks the panes from old windows |
|
down rainy streets |
|
there's a light that meets the ground |
|
in the warm rush of blood to the head fights the sick that's been around |
|
when bags of icy knives pull hard down on the mercury |
|
and winter's whip of cold kills everything in a nursery |
|
down rainy streets |
|
well there's a light that meets the ground |
|
and the warm rush of blood to the head fights the sick that's been around |
