1/9/1999
cold ice slides and collapses with crunch
glacier river runs and feels like I've been punched
face first, frosted up against pained glass
turncoat rebel with plan left awash
rolling slowly away from the center
right rabble rousers leave what's left
with the soft sky still turned and unswept
broad, broad strokes from the artist's brush
rise and ride leaving breakfast for brunch
tables turned and set alone while the fading sun sets slowly
low light sings lyrically and the tired tempo is pulsed
rhythm and groove like a giorgio moroder tune paced in time
until the night finally falls and the steps stop
to disappear in darkness without despair
(c) & (p) 1999 subconscious mind publication company
