white out now the railroad’s ending cracked iron beneath the power line fir trees grow in a tunnel making swept away now the birds run these grounds the trampoline in the quiet mansion the black heart on the dead man’s skin a fountaineer in a frozen fountain his white shin on your pale blue sailor gown black out up in the ballroom painting your silhouette on the wooden floor no one here but the fir trees remember the cold chime of the chandeliers