Red lights through ink black blur.
Through windows, wet ice snow.
Slap-smack Slap-smack Slap-smack.
The windshield wipers’ drummer’s march
Calls ancient newborn eyes
To man the office post.
Red lights through ink black blur.
Through windows, wet ice snow.
Slap-smack Slap-smack Slap-smack.
The windshield wipers’ drummer’s march
Calls ancient newborn eyes
To man the office post.
My Swelling Heart 