Over milk and porridge a young child sings
Falsetto Bre’r Rabbit Songs of the South
Not a thing was wrong in this little lad’s world
Except he’d never laid lips on a girl
There are lost souls on the sidewalk, hidden in the cracks
He’s taken some strides he’d wish to have back
Head down, eyes glazed, not a care in the world
Except those beautiful kids, that job, and that girl
Carousel career-woman, she swore they’d have it all
Hectic spinning worlds don’t pause for mere reflection
So she’d summon up an ego just gazing in a pond’s direction
With no penitence for those who’d drowned
Over grizzled wood grains hangs a respite ghostly glory
Commanding everyone in the room
Then a languid priest shuffles his cramped feet
And that glory, the man, escapes through the chimney flue
16th Street 
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