Sometimes i sit next the the edge,
an old radio next to me.
As i lie down on my sledge,
the radio sings to me.

Sings me songs of love,
like a chirping little dove.
Or cries a tale of sorrow,
my eyes trailing a river till the morrow.

But then...
skies of grey rolled in.
Thunder booms across the sky.
haze and fog clouds my gaze.

And the radio?
all i can hear from it is static.

ME:
Hello?
Hello? Can you still play?
Can you still give me the words that flow easily out of your head?
Can you still reach me?
Hello???