Running the road...on a morn such...without wire...

Such a morn
me getting by the misty air sweetest borne
And the golden speck of dustless air as me gets soothed by
me flies, dear,
By you without wire...
Like once
Bruce ran the streets of Philadelphia...
me feels all...
The days gone
The days coming,
As the whispery tunes of an angel like You me hears...
Enbalming...

Day has fallen
To a rise,
O how happy down the road me glides...

Nay,
Not that Etta James sang...
But like Bruce,
With a truce
Written forever in my mind...
Like running the roads and streets of Philadelphia...

Such a morn me getting by the misty angelic You borne...
And the golden dustless your hair
me finds flowing like music in the air...
And me flies, dear,
By you without wire...