By David Eide  

Cold city. When I stroll your naked heart I see the children crawling to an empty box to sleep. They drink the morning dew with their dry lips While the city plans a day filled with con games. Cold city, I am planning your destruction, I am planning To cut out the arrogant brain that you penetrate me with, Leaving a gaping place for the chilled wind. I dream of your ruin and will dance when I hear far away, That you have suffered as I have suffered.