Wintercreeper Vine

[Verse 1]
(Half-time feel)
Mark poured the sugar at the Town Topic counter,
Quarter-past two on a Tuesday in March.
His hand on her arm wasn't a brother's, wasn't a friend's,
Just a quiet green vine growing there in the dark.

[Chorus]
(Full-time groove kicks in)
Do you prune the branch hard, or just let the frost take it?
What kind of friend turns over that cold, sleeping ground?

[Verse 2]
(Half-time feel)
I know Lena’s hands, how they weed all his worries.
He laughed, and the sound of it bolted straight to seed.
"He's just tired," she’ll say, and pull the good soil around it,
Ignoring the bitter taste of a root-bound need.

[Chorus]
(Full-time groove)
Do you prune the branch hard, or just let the frost take it?
What kind of friend turns over that cold, sleeping ground?

[Bridge]
Some kindnesses are only a different kind of thorn.
He paid with a five, left the change on the plate,
a poor man's fertilizer for a thing misshapen and born.

[Outro]
The neon sign hums over the fallow street.
She walks into the cold, leaving my coffee bitter-sweet.