Gashes and scrapes, hot water, duct tape
The Northern Air falls upon
the bustling townies with their New England outer shell,
who soon may walk on a pond
The mammals retire, and so does my bliss
My hands are chill-wind-kissed;
The winged go to Hell but New England they'll miss
Keep an eye on the time on yer wrist
Soon a bright blanket cast over the land
Frozen under the sun and over the sand
Reminds a good New England man
of things he does not understand
Pour me 'cup a' potato
Cook me a plate a' tea
A winter in New England hills
will chill you to your knee
The cubs are in their cardigans,
And the mother licks her wounds
Crescent shows the dark side
of the azure lunar moon
The Northern Air falls upon
the bustling townies with their New England outer shell,
who soon may walk on a pond
The mammals retire, and so does my bliss
My hands are chill-wind-kissed;
The winged go to Hell but New England they'll miss
Keep an eye on the time on yer wrist
Soon a bright blanket cast over the land
Frozen under the sun and over the sand
Reminds a good New England man
of things he does not understand
Pour me 'cup a' potato
Cook me a plate a' tea
A winter in New England hills
will chill you to your knee
The cubs are in their cardigans,
And the mother licks her wounds
Crescent shows the dark side
of the azure lunar moon
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