Eliot

Awnings and ice and dirty green Newspapers, shovels, sand on the breeze I think of Eliot when I smell the street And it's sometimes wise Just to shut your eyes Workers and lovers make their living...

Now my sword has been broken One last whisper I give The wind crosses the brown land unheard a storm comes right through me Ancient time run soflty ‘Till I end My song the rivers cry for empty hearts...