| Short Arctic desert day ---
|
| And someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra
|
| Look around every which way
|
| But I can’t see just where the footprints go
|
| Is it a casual disappearance? |
| ---
|
| Plucked from the middle atmosphere
|
| Like straw wind-blown
|
| No speck on the horizon ---
|
| No simple message scrawled
|
| Upon the snow
|
| Unearthly visitation ---
|
| Someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra
|
| Hungry buzzard flier
|
| Circling round and round
|
| Rattling death’s tambourine
|
| Have to run it down the cold wire ---
|
| Late insertion in tomorrow’s lost and found
|
| Should I spread out searching?
|
| But I’m a little thin upon the ground
|
| So I raise my lips to coax
|
| The last drop of brandy from the bottle
|
| Rest my feet and contemplate
|
| The mystery that’s haunting
|
| This Siberian space
|
| Show-shoes they bind me down ---
|
| I’m just one more parasite of the surface layer
|
| I begin to get the feeling
|
| I’ve been on this stage before
|
| And I’m the only player
|
| One more Arctic desert day ---
|
| Another set of shoes out in the tundra snow
|
| I make my fade to white-out
|
| And you can’t see me where my footprints go |