After the storm, turned my back on my lover till he sighed and left. All the trees were born again as birches, baptized by the snow. And I still look pretty reflected in water, or in a mirror in a darkened room, As headlights make magic lights when you drive with your eyes almost closed. Hey! I’m leaving blood tracks in the snow. Here I am. Get out of my way. Here I am, burning Buddha’s crown. Better get out of my way. Better get out of my way.