Christmas Fuller Project - Cyclone lyrics

A hurricane died on the hills of the Ozarks while I was asleep in my old bedroom at my parents' house. I woke to the sputtering growl of a chainsaw stalking around in the dark backyard and froze like in a horrible film until I rolled up the will to run out of the room. Dad was on the couch. I nudged him on the shoulder, and he said we'd have to go clear off the road so he could leave for work. We sloshed up our hill with lamps and a chainsaw. Dad cut the limbs. They brushed like wet dove wings as I heaped them up on the side of the road. Sap gloved my hands and stuck on my socks. It would hurt Mom's head to smell the pine so fresh. A sunrise over the horse fields, startled-pink like a newborn. The woodpile in the forest meant I was alone. I kicked that night coverless and dreamt of a cyclone, terrible and black. Gathering my limbs like twigs toward a nest.