Softly through the brush - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

I'm going to be here for a while,
treading softly downtown,
the black water of a deserted intersection.

I used to think
it was so peaceful here,
thick wood and
neon dancers and
the brush of back streets.
Everything's changed - do you feel it?

Empty cycles,
a hand holding tomorrow
in gnarled life,
the glisten of
early anger.

Can anything ever be the same again?