Lines We Trace

The coming mornings, without warning will claim the lives we know All together, for worse or better the drops will fill the boat The home abandoned, the neighbor's cannon peeking through the door The New York market, a poor man's pocket it never need

Cold nights taunt me all the time The wind runs through my clothes They say the coffee here is nice But no one says hello You have your place I've found my way around So the rain won't fall twice on the same ground If you're looking back, you'll neve