traffic going like hot coals, traffic coming like angel eyes.
though it couldn't have happened but maybe once in a year,
now is that day. now is that past-haunted time.
say it softly, or the charm will break
traffic going like hot coals, traffic coming like angel eyes
strung like christmas lights
that glow red till the end of time
over air, dirt and weariness always
say it softly or the charm will break
and leave you with the rusty shell of a dream
in spite of all: high hopes