Patchworked. Piecemealed. Worn on Sleeves

     tellers, accountants
     shopowners go
as the streetdoors close
and the months grow cold.
     the daily grind was set on
           real fine
and the year grew old
                                 right before my eyes
           and that's fine.

            i kinda blew up
            a few nights back
but there's white on black--
i've survived attacks
that were worse than that
and though i know we've been feeling
                 cold
still we've got strong backs
              that's what i am told.

So, late at night when our breaths are seen,
          no more feeling mean
          no more blind, obscene
                           scenes rehearsed.

Let the doors come unlocked
     And the meter break
     Far too much at stake
     To stay pinned or lost
     Or waste time

Shops close in summer
And commutes in winter's no worse.

"The days grow shorter
'Til they grow warmer--
          Then they wax stronger,
So just wait longer
          And GET FINISHED
         WEARING BLANKETS OF ICE,
     You're a damn good kid
     So remember it
     And go live."

              Now.

'Cause a patchwork heart is sewn on this sleeve
     And it's got some dents
     From some accidents.
     But, you know, it's immense
     And it's sewn there for the
                               World to see.