March has always been my bane
Tastes like steel and skin
The skies are just as cold
as the knife
twisting in my sin

I caught ahold of morning's sleet
You caught cold and died
Looking into the coffin's ward
You crossed
that great devide

The bottom of the red clay pit
gathered tears and falling rain
I never knew you long enough
to be dealt with so much pain

Bitter bites the chill when the ides of March arrive
Life felt cheap and nasty
under ***** dishwater skies

I kept hearing Eleanor Rigby
ricocheting off the wall
I just want to paint it black for those who had to run before they learned to crawl

No one was saved that day
No ! There was no one there at all
The old black men in yellow coats stood waiting for the call

I stood not far away
beneath the leafless tree
Watching the men with shovels in hand
Bury the last stop for memories

I found myself a muttering
Tinged and biter as the cold
It's good you died so young
before you died so old