Berth

Silver-wing-ed, broken english, boys they smoke Talk and joke Above the water New York lady, holding in her heavy hand Sacred lantern, guiding dawn Quit all that looking back I quit all of that Casting glances backwards, but it's not your fault Turned to salt for wondering In your braids and heavy pages, we were folded Kiss the cold and dirty ground Quit all that looking back I quit all of that Seasons wake with sleeping birds now flying south Covered mouth, we watch in awe Fallen pines to shape the skyline Take me there Beneath the barren colored moon Quit all that looking back I quit all of that Greeting all the masses From their teeming shores She was born with open eyes Her color . . . is coming back