Zero degrees but I was warm in my bed,
Feeling safe and immune to all outside dread.
The wind beat at the windows and near hid the voice,
That chilled my warm bed with its obvious choice:
To hide in my blankets and close off my ears,
To the crying for help now choked off by tears,
Or get in my clothes and go out in the night,
Offer help I can't give, and try to do right?
I'd heard all the stories of people who'd died,
While neighbors around chose to stay home inside,
Where it's warm and it's light and screams aren't heard
If your heart is all closed, and your soul interred.
So I put on my clothes and put off my fear,
And went out in the cold and strained hard to hear.
The night now was silent, the wind alone spoke
Of lonely and frigid and dying for hope.
The cold stung my ears, my breath froze in my hair,
And something remained of that voice of despair.
I could hope the police brought help for her grief,
To me they brought only a shallow relief,
I then turned away and got warm in my home,
And tried to forget the deep chill in my bones,
Forget that the city is full of such fear,
And it's warm and it's light and it's empty in here.