Editor’s Note: My Awning has not yet collapsed. It is still up, so I can testify the cold is not burning it. But noted poet Marlow has a couple thoughts on how this really works. In the meantime, it is Valentine’s Day, in which is what rational people might take delight. We will get back to the minor things like dry seating and Free Speech with Arrias tomorrow.

– Vic
Nothing Burns Like the Cold

Cold, cold, cold
Cold, cold, cold
Freezing, we was freezing in our tortoise shells
Got no money, no food, brown liquid friend was gone
The internet’s busted, not feeling strong
I called delivery service crying,
I’m down here on my knees
A pizza, some donuts, or a sixpack please
But they was cold

Well, it’s been a year since we seen swamp work
Or a time when they motioned for a vote call
Maybe plague messed them up, or it passed them by
Whatever, they couldn’t decide at all
And they’re mixed up, they’re so mixed up
Don’t they know we’re hungry
And I wish they’d get off of our cases
And get on with their own

Cold, cold, cold
Cold, cold, cold
Them bills was freezing, freezing cold
Well, we tried everything to warm em up
Now we’re dying in our cold tortoise shells
Cause plague messed em up, or it passed em by
Whatever, they couldn’t decide at all
And they’re mixed up, they’re so mixed up
Don’t they know we’re hungry
And I wish they’d get off of our cases
And get on with their own

So they turned clock back, there’s another check comin’ round
Our feet, our feet are frozen to the ground
Won’t be cold, won’t be cold
We’re sold, we’re sold

Copyright 2021 My Isle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com