Black Ice and French Fries

Northern vagabond winter is coming to peck you apart it has a black ice heart as it kisses your blue lips the blood will leave the limbs to protect the soul of the heart. but city people won't bring you in. They've just clawed from under- a summer of blood their conditioned not to trust your skin color. Country folk are no better though they stoke the hearth the dirty nails of Jesus- crack the yellow blinds no food is birthed from these hollow times. head south vagabond follow the heartbeat of the sun. At least you can dream in conch and tangerine... but here to, the people won't lend hand. but you'll have the soothe of salty air, a pillow of warm sand. The ocean breeze will play alto sax a choir of gulls will tell you about God... For half a French fry.