Take my hand,
we'll fuse our last
                    few folding dollars together,
and we'll walk our snowbound streets
               and try to fend off the cold.
Find a place that's too familiar,
shivering hands on the door.
               Halfway laughing.
                   Half a cough
     as we protest we're still not old.

Break the skin,
I'll break the silence.
               Sigh
and watch our breaths ascend
          the frigid night.
Tell me, "Show me something beautiful
                    or let me leave the light."

Now, fill me up. Just sing that tune.
Two songs of piling rust.
                    I love
          the way you croon.
I'm just a walking ghost.
But what does that make you?
           Red-faced or blue?
           Two-faced or true?
               Do you stay?
             Or cry, "Adieu!"?

Strike the band,
they'll play the last
                    few notes of that "Civil Twilight."
and we'll speak our foolproof plans
               and try to forget the cold.
'Til you say, "That's too familiar."
Make your way to the door.
               Half a laugh.
             caught in throat
    I hope they'll draw out that last note.

Break the skin,
you **** the silence,
                    laugh-
-ing with descending face
               and frozen eyes,
saying, "Show me something beautiful
                  and let me leave the light."

W a nn a  
g o
w a nn a taste the open   r o a d

l e t  strangers look at me f u nn y
want to catch this t r i p

wi t h you

wanna be a mess
           have my feet on the dash
b e  s o me  w h e r e  o p e n

Another year gone past,
another year about to start.
Do we still welcome the sun?

No matter how far we run
or how fast,
it just won't last.
What it is to perish in the face of spring?

Of all the gifts that misery can bring,
would there be enough rain
to empty my veins?
Can we still make it to the next war?

The angels looking down at the creatures God abhors,
Lucifer looking up from his hide,
smiling eyes filled with pride
at his brothers, in disguise of anger and hate.

At the dead-end, when happiness is the bait,
a petty choice between a truth and a lie,
let me choose to neither live nor die