The storm has moved north, Manhattan drifts south
The country's in ice, the gods underground
But you are still home with your cigarettes
Counting the stars underneath your breath
Above the ash, above the ice
We'll write your name in broken lights
And while Jersey sleeps in violent dreams
We'll see your face light up a screen
Fire rose in May, snow fell in June
Your family fled west, their demons went too
But you are still home waiting for the call
Reading your scene to paintings on the wall
Admirers await in California
These strangers don't know who you are
I remember you in your parents car
Cul-de-sac hides you in its arms
Lies on the telephone don't know where you are
