A New York Gloaming

Gloaming is such a soft and soothing word. "In the gloaming oh my darling, when the lights are soft and low, and the quiet shadows falling, softly come and softly go..."

Well, not in New York City! Our gloams rock!

See the blaze of passion sweep the trees?
Are they alight? Oh, yes!
Radiant with obsession, haunted by coal-hot desire to consume the spaces in between.
What hope is there for any squirrel or wren, who lingers on a limb sticky with molten sap?

So if you come across a trace of morning ash, remember that liquid evening sun.
Lyrics by Jonatharr Brooke