Cumquats & Apricots

February is the coldest month in hell

It can bottle up your soul in some foggy, soggy shell

Other months are four weeks long, but when February appears,

February takes years.

Sometimes I think I’ll move to the tropics.

And I’ll have

Cumquats and Apricots Cumquats and Apricots

Growin’ by my back door.

Cumquats and Apricots.

Bare feet on my kitchen floor.

And I’ll fall to my knees as the tropical breeze

Warms my winter-weary bones.

And the sunsets in mango and tangerine tones.

Snow all around here. “But it’s so beautiful,” you say.

Beautiful, sure, like lace-white flowers in a funeral display.

You say, “You can take it” as the days slosh by.

Sure, I can take it,

But why?

Meanwhile I dream about:

(Chorus)

What am I waiting for? This is my perfect fantasy.

Cumquats and Apricots. You can pick ‘em right off the tree.

Cumquats and Apricots. Growin’ by my back door.

Cumquats and Apricots. What am I waiting for.

What are we waiting for?