The snow falls in patterns
that compliment your moods.
It's coloring your face a differnet shade
and it's poisoning your blood
with a brand new kind of love
It's puncturing your skin
Did you know what you were getting into?

The world asleep
thirty bags empty
Is this how you want to feel?

The snow is melting now
(the temperature makes this feeling pure now)
and flowing through your veins
(just a little bit more now)

A made bed is better than
making your way into a coffin