Its funny, as I am sitting here in the back of the auditorium, listening to all my friends on stage. The song is The Nutcracker, and suddenly it all comes back. As the bass thrums in my ear and the trupet blares loudly across the audience, I remember those winter day where She would take me to The Nutcracker. Two young girls in tow, She would cart us around, another venue every year. It was grand, the high light of my season. I could watch women with long limber legs and men in their toy soilder costumes, prance gracfully across the stage in time with th music. As I sat in that darkened auditorium it all came back to me. She used to take me to see this, to listen to this music. I had the urge to laugh madly, and cry out in anguish. Its a funny thing how precious things become long after they have ended. When the memory still stands while the erson fades. In that darkened auditorium I felt a pang of sickening nostaligia and longing. For She is dead and I am still here, and now I have no one to take me to the Nutcracker

Splintering hard unforgiving cold
Beating upon the barren ground
Like bullets from a gun
They catch what little light that manages through
They shine beautifully and sting like sin
My breath becomes puffy clouds before my eyes
Red fingers ache and groan with the chill
The world smells crisp and white
Purified of all its delightful imperfections
Snow dusts the trees in their frozen splendor
And touches the world with its bone white fingers

Its a feeling that I'm not quite in place
The place I'm supose to be
Here amongest the civilized who share my blood
I was born wild in this house of elegant beauty
How alone I am in this mass of strangers
Oh how I long to be amongest the heathens
Who howl and prowl in the open night
They are my home
But forbidden am I
And forced to act civil
Oh how I must look to my kin
Whose wildness was tamed
I am a sweet rebel in this world of rules and laws
Oh proper world and all its amenities
I just want to be with my kind
I just want to be understood

Some pray and some wish
A cold breathless whisper on their lips
Snow, please, snow
A simple hope
That the land will become frost bitten and white
Crispness, blanketing the land
They dream of such beauty
So when they wake to rain
The groans are endless
And their faith, ever so slightly, waning

The whites of your eyes were yellow
Yellow like old parchment
The heavy dark bags beneath them made you old
The disgust was plain
And your words like *****
The first tears spilled across my lips
And I ran, not looking back
In my infinite sadness I flourished
The dark whispering deadly soft words in my ears
And so I never forgot

Your fingers were rough and calloused
Always rough and calloused
Work was all you knew
Besides women and *****
***** and women
Your soft sad smile I remember well
And your smell
I could get high from the heavy mix of wood and paint
Your black hair slicked back
I loved when you took me to bars
You'd buy me an ice cream or some pop
Oh, those were the good ol' days
When you flirted with waitresses and bartenders alike
I was so niave
A blissful thing, to be a fool
A beautiful fool

Orange and red
Besmirched upon the ground
Oppressed winds howl in the lead hearts of man
No words are spoken
as silence swallows the land
With is haunts and its banshee calls
Shadows grow longer
and their folly is immense
As our night becomes their play ground
And their prescense becomes our fear
When the moon is high and waiting
Silver fingers
out stretched to greet the sleeping heads of man
To fill them with effervescenent dreams
Melencholy minds are set at ease as the fireside blazes
Satin stares and obscure kisses fill the night
As the seemingly never ending night
Chases the day
Secret lovers flourish
As it all just fade away