Macy Gray

He's sitting frozen with mud on his feet in Indiana

And his blue skin plays a January song

His mind a-wanders to the sunshine he's been missing in the white room.



She stared at his brisket eyes so long

A lonely snowman, he figures and he calculates her body

And life's brevity assures him that it won't last long.



He's got days

Days and says

Iceman fight in my head

Frederick's Frost



He thinks about her lovely nametag as he shivers by the birdbath

Bromide poison concentrated dull

He's got lots of pictures of her he could show you,

but he has concroid pitches in his skull



Turned loose from the cage.

He's a lion with an illness

And every rose he touches folds and turns to glass.