Little patches of snow
Everyday another goes
Ambient traffic snores
Sitting still in her car
Dead cells on winter skin
Fresh ones form and cycle in
Heat ignites, a humming sound
Blowing particles around
And it feels like
And it feels like
Mouthfuls of crusty bread
Smoke rises from the shed
Light through a lampshade
Turns black fur into gray
Thoughts stroll like passersby
The engine comes alive
In a frame, your hands on me
A subtle alchemy
And it feels like
And it feels like
A metal motion in the drive
Combustion smoke from a pipe
In hand, a key he holds
Catches light and turns to gold
An open door, your hands on me
A subtle alchemy
And it feels like
And it feels like
And it feels like
And it feels like
