When the night is cold; it's cold and numb, Snowflakes they touch; they touch your skin, You run to yourself; from yourself you run, That's how solitude feels; solitude never felt like this.
Somehow I had to die; die to be reborn, To find a map; a map of where I went, Where the stars they shine; they shine brighter it seems, Did this one thing; one thing it did for me.
To communicate the intensity; intensity of my inner world, And be besides something; something I created, This is why I write poetry; This is why I write poetry.