They say it's going to snow

My head is tired and crammed
My body tense
My fingers will not run
along the strings
Landing on each pavement crack
Muscles overrun
by a thousand raging thoughts

It's cold

I want to have control
To own my hands
Inhabit and command them
Still the cyclone
of conflicting things
To find some peace
where the battle's still being wrought

And they say it's going to snow