The Fox Down in Bridge-Town

The wind outside is howling,
Like a dog left out in the rain,
Damp, despairing and dreadful,
A ruthlessness to restrain.

The whole house is shaking,
Like the storm is finally within,
Cast upon an uneasy turpitude,
Looks like God has seen me sin.

My home is a moral depravity,
Of a love that once died in vain,
Yet there’s a deep discrepancy,
Have I experienced enough shame?

My room here is a nightmare,
Once exasperated in lust,
Everything here is a terror,
This action was proclaimed unjust.

The fox down in Bridge-town,
Has found its way around.
The fox down in Bridge-town,
Has left without a sound.

Shadows bounce from the corners of bed,
In this resentment I call here,
Yet every time I find comfort,
Your daunting looks appear.

Obumbratio, Obumbratio,
On the place I’ve visited before,
Yet it paints a black picture,
Of a love wanting to restore.

Cry me a river,
And a stream and a lake and a boat,
For if you can’t swim,
You most definitely won't float.


There’s a spot where night meets day,
Where the moon is as useless as presumption,
It wreaks havoc and distortion,
Like capitalism does consumption.

The fox down in Bridge-town,
Has trouble finding its way home,
The fox down in Bridge-town,
Will leave before the gloam.

Is it twilight or crepuscule,
And will we find it's truth,
For nothing is inherently evil,
Not even a fox mixed up in youth.