Snowshoes

It's all melted out of me, the grip and the glow
With my snowshoes back on, I head home to the coldest pole.
With the same prayer, to the same place where
no Santa happens to be,
with that same long list of stuff that he can't bring.
Hail Mary, Dear Santa, Holy Holy how to begin
asking for words when you have none to ask in.
I'm tongue-tied at ringside you fog up my mind's eye
You've tripped up and untucked my big mouth, my good luck.
My throat and teeth are bleached with you
I'm spitting out soap.
Broadcast from far away I hear me in some strange code
saying, "don't want to be half of anything,
no matter how huge -- I don't want these pillow cases
breathed into. These small Shaker spaces are too
simple for two. I just hear the language of
you you you you you."
I'm tongue-tied at ringside you fog up my mind's eye
You've tripped up and untucked my big mouth, my good luck.
Saint Saint Saint Cecilia, trust me I know what's best.
If you give the right words to me then I won't be left.
I won't be left.

©1994 Agent Gracie Music (BMI) and McKinley


Back Next
Back to McKinley Home Page