| Cold Streams Night Streets Make me try cold streams make me pry bolts loose make me break gold chains make me shake old thrones Grind speech to mute ache bind grief to bruised bones find grooves to glide through find ways to ease pain Take my fake bleak snow take my gloom-zone sighs take my vain robe's gleam take my tomb-weight shoes Use sleep to find dreams use dreams to find clues use clues to find keys use keys to find you Wake my truce-choked roots wake my trait-glued toes wake my tribe-spiked brain wake my stone-flame thighs Place fuse though cage gloats race wheels though fate jokes face knives to know why chase crows through night streets Michael Harmon |
