Golden
Ken Andrews, Greg Edwards
He crept through the streets
Eyes upturned
A small patch of sky
Looked down on him
Through baskets, they weave
So thickly
He saw on the sea
Alone in the clouds
A rusty old bridge
Was yelled in his mind
He thought it was golden
It swayed to his breath
And creaked with the boats
He unpacked his coat
And laid down
With somebody's shoes
He traveled
Between the two ends
Of his bridge
He learned all the holes
To crawl in
And stayed for the time
When wind's too cold
The rats that could march
Whispered in his ear
He knew it meant something
But nobody came
He sat through the nights
And watched all the darkness
It spread with his breath
And pushed back the sky
He stayed for the days
On his home
A rusty old bridge
Would scream in his mind
He thought it was golden