Your coal burning contrite in my lint pocket
There is something about a cloudy day
missing your sunny perfection
There's a state of assurance as the crowd closes in
The rickety trambone of the homeless man asks me for change
I am reminded that you are their, waiting
I am here on this street freezing under this cover of winter
Waiting to be saved.
Clever magazine adds don't tell me a thing at midnight
as I change my jeans I am alone instead
and the jazz music never changes
So I wait for the dawn, Ever coming
But the message is blank and you left a scar on my leg.