The Living Rockumentary

These are the words that I was singing to myselt while walking through Northampton at 1:30 last night in the snow:

Some people think there's a hex on it.
It's never gonna stop snowing.
Parking meters up to their necks in it.
It's never gonna stop snowing.

I can't hear a thing, it's so quiet out.
I just walked home, I'm so tired out.
It's never gonna stop snowing.

Now sitting here in the Eye on Northampton I can see that it's still snowing. I can barely make-out the cars on the other side of the street for the five foot snowbanks on the median. The icycles on my house are enormous. The crazy crooked one outside my dining room has split into three directions and is at least eight feet long. Our back porch looks like the mouth of an ice-dragon with glistening sharp fangs hanging from the roof. I have twice sat in a car that was yanked through the snow by a guy in a pick-up truck. A woman with a bright blue umbrella just slid by my window, a burst of color on a black and white landscape. This is the end of the world.