Tonight seems like a good time to write
As the lights are low and the bay breeze is mellow
And the winter winds just started to bight
With their bitter cold chill and howl so hollow
I wonder when the trees begin to change
If they think they’ll ever return to the same bright color
That they held when the temperature didn’t range
From thirty-two above to negative one hundred
The light resembles grated cheddar cheese
As it oozes through the blinds on this cold autumn midnight
And tonight seems like a good night to freeze
Because the bighting winter winds just won’t let me write.
