Before You're Gone

Snow amidst the rain in morning
sun we evade the light
reflected by ring-less fingers and waking-dreams
brought on by stars and alcohol.
(You're scared and you should be)

Drink it down, choke it up.
Drink it down, choke it up.

Trust me no more than the wandering jazz on the streets, homeless and pleading from the lips of a black man's saxophone and preluded by his case full of quarters, gratefully given by the six-year-old children of rich men in brown coats.
(You know not to get too close)

Give it up, put it down.
Give it up, put it down.

It was cold last night but you never did mind that black leather sticking to bare skin (it helps to be otherwise occupied) and try not to think about the 5 a.m. paperboy looking in on our affair.

Looking up, hold me down.
Looking up, hold me down.

There is a clock on the wall that keeps ticking and its job is to remind us of just how little time we actually have together (I can't push the snooze if you were never asleep) when I would give anything for five more minutes in those arms.

Dying down, wake me up.
Dying down, wake me up.

(Before you're gone)