Winter

You know when you're standing out there
having a cigarette in the frigid cold
and there are those buildings with big
blinding neon signs through the heavy dark night
and a few of the letters have died out
and they breathe out toxins across the street
or down the road
or miles away
and the cars breathe them out
and the trains breathe them out
and yeah
You're breathing them out too
and you think to yourself
Standing there in the cold
"Hell... It must be winter again."

I call this home...
We... Call this home

and I dont care if you don't want to hear
that I could watch the whole thing burn itself apart
Choke on fumes
Break its bones
Whatever
But when you come around
You're like the surgeon that sews the tendons
of reality back into place
Triple bypass sunshine surgery
PHD in making me happy
and that means something to me
Then you are gone again
when I get out of the snow
and I'm at the bar drinking ice ciders in a broken place
Making up excuses
Waiting on friends who hardly care to show
I'm just the guy writing words that you don't want to know
Relying on some passive chance that scribbling them down might warm up your mind
Or at least warm up my own
and so what if it does?
This is just the place that I call home...

In winter.