Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Ice Storms Bricking My Trends Like Wind

11-6-05

The rain became bullets
so I Chapsticked my shoes
and drove my feet to you.
Umbrella charmless, in a windstorm;
I know you have no sympathy.
I smoked it on the way.

Grab a blanket; turn out the lights
(if the electricity failure hasn't).
There's nothing safer than you tonight.
But God knows it ain't right.
And I know it ain't right.

The wind threw fallen leaves through my closed windows.
My curtains opened into my sinew.
I paused like The Reniassance
to enjoy my severance.
This public weather destruction
mimics my own incarceration.
Stormy like you wouldn't believe,
but believe it! Please, miss me!

Click on the heat, click up the speakers;
bolt the doors and windows.
The rain is coming like it does on tv
and I want you to see me.
         This is not as bad as you
         but we need something to talk through.

The sirens came through it
as my lights flickered.
I figure at best it's over,
and at worst it's just beginning.
When the wind is tackling;
when the pavement meets the knees;
when the bodies are sailing;
there's seldom time
         for hellos and goodbyes.

I'm not named after a girl, but I'm a city
and I know it's not about to be pretty.