two blocks from the factory where boys become men
and the air is stagnant
plumes of smoke rise before the setting sun
and the ashes fall like snow
drifting down slowly without haste
the black tipped leaves, I catch them in my eyes
and when I can't see, I'll sleep
but the snow will continue to fall
labor, now, labor
work lights mount the stars and ride them away
I can't see the mood, I can't dream anymore
and I knock the phone off the hook
the nights are gone, only days remain
the dial-tone is my only friend
a dream, perfect and fragile, like lightning in the sunshine
wrestling till dawn for a glimpse
until morning carried you away
and left me on my back trying to remember the dream
please hang up and try again