I’ve seen the spires of St. Basil’s rising through the fog,
The plaza vast and cobblestoned, the air so heavy on my skin
Take off your hat and coat you said
But oh, the chill clings and clings, and always will
My hands ... curled tight inside my gloves like little animals,
Hibernating deep as death. We cannot count on spring this year
The butcher said. His joke has fallen
Flat, and oh, the meat is poorly wrapped.
CH: This city, this city is a slumbering beast
And when it gets hungry, this city, this city will eat.
I’ve seen the flow of shapes and shadows streaming from the train,
A spigot pouring steam and men and all of them have packages.
I smell spirits in the air, you said
As we walked the dark arcade
I’ve heard the scratching of grey trees against a granite sky,
A path of ash and gravel leads down to the mottled, frozen beds
Where monuments sleep fitfully
In rows, their coats dusted with snow.
credits
from The Valley,
released June 4, 2022
Music and Lyrics by Nancy Burke
Instruments by Steve Dawson
Recorded and mixed at Kernel Sound Emporium by Steve Dawson
Mastered by Carl Saff
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