When them leaves they don't stir
under blanket of winter snow
there an angel keeps
his hovel warm. Cherub
melts in arms by
mornings still. Lost in
tangle of her hair, and them stars
glowin magic on necktide
long after night retire.
But he set up to lose her.
Yea, this the way he made. Fear
he gonna be loser. Heck he
set up to be one.
Stop her, stop her!