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Wedding The Morning Air

curses made special out of bullet bits by some Pollock I know in Evergreen Park And dip them in the potion and drop them in Buckingham Fountain at 3:13 on Friday morning

I don't remember what I was doing There were no remembered witnesses to my doings But it seems like I've known him, forever He who has, moved through mornings

Shaking its fists in the air The winter slammed us like a fist The windows rattling in the gales To which she drew the curtains Made out of her wedding

streets Shaking its fists in the air The winter slammed us like a fist The windows rattling in the gales To which she drew the curtains Made out of her wedding