sweet jane
I'm walking out in a force ten gale.
birds thrown around, bullets for hail.
the roof is pulling off by its fingernails.
your voice is rapping on my window sill.
yesterday's headlines blown by the wind.
yesterday's people end up scatterbrain.
then any fool can easy pick a hole (I only wish I could fall in).
a moving target in a firing range.
somewhere I'm not scatterbrain.
