The nights are cold,
Even when you're lying there holding my hand.
Your breath, unwanting of me,
Is warm on my skin
But the cold of your cruel heart exudes louder,
More frequently,
You're desire to leave.
I'm sorry, first love,
For letting you walk away,
Could I wish,
I'd ask you to stay;
But what's a wish for a man I don't know.
Wishful thinking, I guess I must say.
Let me mention the strength of my heart.
A muscle with marshmellow consistency
That you baked sweet like a s'more
With what was once your humanity.
But the fire is out of your eyes,
And only a deadly stone cold remains.
So even when you're lying there holding my hand,
The nights are cold.
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