Stepped out into a foreign street,
in smoke, in wonder.
Where had it come from?
How had it taken so long?

Buttoned up my coat and pulled my
scarf tight to my throat.
What was this path that I was on?

Sometimes, the days run long,
and others are cut short.
I'm playing all my favorite songs
and longing for new thoughts.
I'm pushing past December in a crowd.

Overhead, the iron holds
the freight trains as they go.
We step aside to let each other
shuffle through the snow.
Our victories no longer make us proud.

Remembering a tragedy,
your face was like a ghost.
I knew your mind, you knew I might.
We've suffered more than most.
The streets are wet and you don't see at all.

Phosphorescent people, sanguine,
trudge from store to store.
I just can't find the reasons
to belong here, anymore.
December's just the casket of the fall.