The Bells of Saint Christopher's

I get out of bed and I stand on the cold hard floor
My breath smoking in front of me and the window frozen
A child crying in the street
And a woman smiles in her sleep
And I hear the bells of Saine Christopher’s call
And the hammers below bouncing off the walls.
I face myself grey in the looking glass
And I see my eyes up close where the pupils spark
The sky is hanging like ripped curtain above the town
And the trains pull in and out of the station
Making their heavy sound
And all around the caos rang.
A rainbow arcs perfect across this troubled land.