I'll sing the song so long and low
in street blue light and back shadow
the cold cement which gapes to brick
will warm for me, in carpets thick
the foot worn floors will bathe, and kind
will be cruel winds from far horizons.

I'll sing the song so high and sweet
from street side stage to bus stop seat,
the deaf of engines will attend,
the hard eyed hands will long extend
embraces, mouths will speak, and soft
will be hard neon in the city.

I'll sing the song until it's right.
In threadbare coats and jeans too tight,
in soles too thin and sleeves too long,
I'll sing until the thing's not wrong
and I am one time whole. Then long
and fine will be the walk down back streets.