Winter’s in the bridges,
frost already fallow in steel and concrete.
Smile like baptism,
and eyes like fire.
quick to wit, when wit were worthy.
regal in reach and roar.
Winter’s in the bridges,
everyone’s pretending to blow smoke-rings with their breath.
But then again, there’s all that to talk about,
and that is so much effort.
Apathy is the frost in the windows,
but we both know it has nothing to do with it,
probably,
meh…
probably.
Yeah.
