you want to go back.
where you can listen to lightning
like a lullaby
and the clouds and the moon
wrap you up baby-tight.
where the only ones out and about
are alive,
and they know darkness can't hurt you
if you're already blind.

and the washed out white street lights
that lean over the 205,
have something to say if you happen to listen,
so you watch as they close their wise,...