What disguise?
Is it time to run around or could I just be a frown
No denying
Is contours and smiles
The shells on the avalanche, they’re such a fanciful spot
Should I be the cancerous one who links all insidious lots?
Monday
I’ll die
To die severs all living ends and counting files
And a winter cannot bite or see the light
Into its glowing sight
Oh, who will die

Too summery inside my shy
Two angry little flies
Two gambling anchors that live on and die
Can you recognize the meticulous, the move
Can you go
To the man who lives in the snow
And says who will die