Winter Torn
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Biting the loose skin off,
My winter torn hands,
So cold,
That I'm sweating,
Shivering and Quaking,
Just to appreciate,
The importance of overdressing,
To match my girl in her puffy coat.
I waddle down the street,
In a comical rendition,
Something that somewhat resembles walking.
Make no mistake,
I don't tough it out,
But I do subtract the covers from you,
And I add comforters.
"Brrrr...I'm cold,"
Is uttered like some pansy-ass Minnesota pirate,
That could never hope to come across as mean.
The wind, on the otherhand,
Is so cruel these months,
But we're so fickle when we're uncomfortable.
Get a cup of hot whatever,
And a glass of ice water,
Watch them fight at your table in the back corner.
Cause no one in their right mind,
Would sit by the door tonight,
Or be so insensitive,
As to sit by the fogged up windows,
Enjoying the warmth at the expense of passerbys,
And poor souls waiting for the bus.
This is my stop,
So let me out of this state,
Of seemingly snowless tundra.
Climate better suited for those,
Who can afford valet parking,
And heated garages near their penthouse overlooking Calhoun.
I am best suited for,
Hiking through a fresh 6 inches with 3rd graders in my heavy boots,
Or putting armfuls down my girls back,
Take me back there,
Where I am winter torn.
My winter torn hands,
So cold,
That I'm sweating,
Shivering and Quaking,
Just to appreciate,
The importance of overdressing,
To match my girl in her puffy coat.
I waddle down the street,
In a comical rendition,
Something that somewhat resembles walking.
Make no mistake,
I don't tough it out,
But I do subtract the covers from you,
And I add comforters.
"Brrrr...I'm cold,"
Is uttered like some pansy-ass Minnesota pirate,
That could never hope to come across as mean.
The wind, on the otherhand,
Is so cruel these months,
But we're so fickle when we're uncomfortable.
Get a cup of hot whatever,
And a glass of ice water,
Watch them fight at your table in the back corner.
Cause no one in their right mind,
Would sit by the door tonight,
Or be so insensitive,
As to sit by the fogged up windows,
Enjoying the warmth at the expense of passerbys,
And poor souls waiting for the bus.
This is my stop,
So let me out of this state,
Of seemingly snowless tundra.
Climate better suited for those,
Who can afford valet parking,
And heated garages near their penthouse overlooking Calhoun.
I am best suited for,
Hiking through a fresh 6 inches with 3rd graders in my heavy boots,
Or putting armfuls down my girls back,
Take me back there,
Where I am winter torn.
