I went downtown this morning.
Traffic was quite slow.
Drivers aren't accustomed to the snow.
Old gray stony buildings,
the color of the sky,
didn't budge although the clouds tore by.
I drove half cross state to see you,
but I got stopped by the snow--
couldn't keep my car upon the road,
and the faces were unfriendly,
and the voices stony cold,
but it only cost me twenty to get towed.
When I made it to some city
I found a room quite warm
and slept an hour or two before the dawn,
and I saw the stormy morning
from my hotel window view.
Now I am sad I can not be with you.
You said you'd see me in December
or when summer comes around
and told me I should not be feeling so down,
but if you knew what I'd been doing,
you'd think there's little hope,
and tell me I'm too strung out on some dope.
As I'm writing you this letter,
I'm writing us a song
of everything between us that's been wrong.
No, I don't want your pity,
though I could use some love.
Take care my friend,
Find peace of mind and love.