as the two lanes slicken
and the clouds that hug that ridge just thicken
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 k**s 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