Cold wind

When the cold wind blows, I am blue-eyed and blind
Under the bilious river, the bugle beat firm
Her tattooed face acts strange as molasses on a blues stage
Blind, bald, invisible I come to praise her everyday
A screamer in the bathtub attracts a herd of mounted apes
Measured like horsemen by the hoof
I saddle backwards on the Natchez trace
Blazing the trail for a preacher with method
I am concerned, tell me, is everything okay?
His aleatory trajectory to baptism in slime
The burning savage thrust of a cold malingering crime
We walk through a gate marked "eventually"
Once upon a time in a garden by a river in the east