On December 3, 2014
I'm stuck in the ice,
a mechanical doll with no heart.
This is not a bubble fantasy to break,
to come into me,
a silent rhapsody of the still mind.
The only sound that fills my time is the clock I hear
when you put your hand on my polar grave.
The snow is as the dust on a globe,
filled your room with lots of toys,
reading books with the frost
hanged on like the love lies bleeding
through the windows into your rebellion.
This is not the courage, to rot until you die alone, to wish
upon a dread frozen beyond and wait until you are gone.
The only sound that fills my time is the clock I hear
and soon, very soon the clock will stop.
a mechanical doll with no heart.
This is not a bubble fantasy to break,
to come into me,
a silent rhapsody of the still mind.
The only sound that fills my time is the clock I hear
when you put your hand on my polar grave.
The snow is as the dust on a globe,
filled your room with lots of toys,
reading books with the frost
hanged on like the love lies bleeding
through the windows into your rebellion.
This is not the courage, to rot until you die alone, to wish
upon a dread frozen beyond and wait until you are gone.
The only sound that fills my time is the clock I hear
and soon, very soon the clock will stop.
