I've been holding on to my skeleton, I wouldn't let me bury it like it deserved. I held on to it although it could give no warmth.
As I turned in my bed I touched its cold bones, no warmth. No blood flowing yet I kept hoping life would come back to my skeleton after all, wasn't it mine? Mine to tame, to teach, to hold, to love till the blood could flow again?

But tell me when you've ever seen a skeleton come back with flesh. Leave alone the dry bones of the valley in the holy book for this is no holy book, for this is no prophecy.
I throw away the skeleton and warm my own bed. Look unto my own flowing blood for my skeleton pricked me in my sleep, tore my flesh in my careless slumber.
I warm my own bed till I find a warmer like me. No more skeleton.