Misplaced Feeling
There are no sirens tonight
Storm windows in place
And the sounds of cold Cambridge
Are lost to the pipes
Steam whining into being
Sputtering into existence
A life so short
Birth is death
There is nothing to hold
Except imagination
Which is lonely and quick
And will not satisfy
Storm windows in place
And the sounds of cold Cambridge
Are lost to the pipes
Steam whining into being
Sputtering into existence
A life so short
Birth is death
There is nothing to hold
Except imagination
Which is lonely and quick
And will not satisfy
