And I called her a woman
The north wind is angry tonight.
It's a good night to drop a few rocks in your pockets
unless your heart is made of stone.
The way that dangerous voice
knocks around the concrete breezeways
makes me think she's a woman.
She's out there makin' threats,
pelting the walls with handfuls
of dead, winter leaves, and beating at my door.
Even the moon is in hiding,
but the street signs still cast their shadows...