the day the storm came the air rang static thick
and the skull buzz drone of life swung on its hinge
i wet stared into the glare and called to it
then waited soft and scared to tell my sister

then everyone who loves us starts to sing
i'm sorry, i'm sorry, my condolences
and in a buzzing Pilsen loft I took the hit
because there's no right way to grieve
or how to live

the pain's a concatenated shape of little things
i'm livin in the John Prine songs he used to sing
and searching for those circling hawks he used to see
staring out the gray-blue eyes he gave to me

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