i ll call my carrier pigeons home from a window where i stand alone i ll draw the blinds and fall asleep in an attic full of make believe where carolers sing below with bells in the falling snow their shadows against the white on streets of electric light at the bar i ll watch the news awhile just to see the anchor woman smile on a stage i ll sing an elvis song just to hear the barmaids sing along mirrors and razor blades christmas eve parades a murder by mistletoe drunks in the falling snow she left him by the night arcade and turned his heart into a spade he turned that lovely blue eyed jane to a homicide on campbell lane hearing the sirens croon in a familiar room laying with last year s love high as the moon above2