In the dark room without curtains on the windows
The bold have withered
like a fish out of water

I hid the moonbeams
cut their threads
without distinction
I hid your collection
of sharp things that made you subjective

(as the stars are so cold
representing a life that
was lost . The lost were the bold that paid at such a cost)

You made a promise
just so you could break it
You told a lie with red ribbons around pink carnations

So on the morning of deliverance you made an exception
Like the train down at the station you look good
in cold