as the rug rolls down all the worldly troubles become mufflednjust a few minutes more they'll suffocate nas she leads your feet down a winding path not soon forgottennyou'll wonder how it got so late nbut not enough to curse all the soil lost where the path is beatennthat soil learned to to contemplate nas the bus cuts curbs takes down a dozen aunts and unclesnonly concrete will care when they call nand if their mouth has a lit cigarette the burning ash will find it's way to heavennand its descendants they are all acid rainnand though the clouds spit fire every once in a while I'll be catchingna glimpse I'll pretend is sleet and snownand if the boat backs up it'll wonder what has plagued like such an anchornthey'll find that they had sunk long agonwhere would you prefer that I go – where would you prefer I gonpart of change is more than coins... npart of me would rather not learn npart of the body is the bone... npart of birth is leaving homenpart of keeping colors old... is beating back the claws of the cold