Music wafts up from the streets,
Water splashes silver under street lights and dancing feet.
Grins warm the night air that must be cold,
Being twirled around by a partner will warm you up, or so I'm told.
Icy water pours over the dancers heads
Creating a moment they will dream of later, in their beds.
Although they are washed clean of their inhibitions,
I'm much warmer in my condition.
Peering from a dry doorway,
Not a drop of rain comes my way
My arms are warm and my hair is dry,
But my soul is ice and I hate that I don't try
