traffic going like hot coals, traffic coming like angel eyes.    though it couldn't have happened but maybe once in a year,    now is that day. now is that past-haunted time.    say it softly, or the charm will break    traffic going like hot coals, traffic coming like angel eyes    strung like christmas lights    that glow red till the end of time    over air, dirt and weariness always    say it softly or the charm will break    and leave you with the rusty shell of a dream    in spite of all: high hopes