When the cold people come out, come out from their earthy graves,
They creep to your windows, and slip under your doors.
When the cold people come inside, come inside to reach into your whole,
They flood your mind, and rush your soul.
The cold people come into your memories, make scenes seem more sinister than they are,
They make you lash out, leaving to others only fresh scars.
The cold people cause you to leave,
when you shouldn't,
when you usually wouldn't,
pushing you to drastic measure you thought you couldn't.
The cold people are the memories of you, the body of me you buried in your yard.
The pictures we burned, the lesson you never learned.
They only come for me, they will not set me free. But I know you refuse to face yourself, so I hope you're happy, so ignorantly free.