The Cold speaks to me in whispers, 
A voice from the depths of the grave, 
Echoing through the lifeless expanse, 
Where justice has long since decayed,
 
I do not feel regret, 
Nor the pulse of living flesh, 
As the frost gnaws at my hollow bones, 
A numbness creeping through my skin,
 
This world is a tomb, cold and barren, 
Where the dead do not dream. 
The Cold's embrace is all that shields me, 
A shroud against the world’s cruel gaze,
 
In this endless void, 
The Cold's embrace is the only truth left. 
It is the only thing that lingers, 
The only thing I still crave.