Bitter Cold

I was sitting in the bitter cold,

Dead clouds floatin' all around me.

I went looking for a distant hole,

Snow drifts dancin' at my feet.

Through the forest,

Knew the chorus,

Of the searching wind.

I was waiting for a reccolection,

Of cold air filling up my chest.

I was sittin' through a vacant memory,

Dead as running from my breath.

With my footsteps came the presence of the searching wind.

And it said;

"where will they go

Where will they go

You act like youre chasing a ghost

You act like youre chasing a ghost"

I stood staring at an empty forest,

Both hands colder, maybe frozen.

I spoke to my interlocutor,

"why the burden of your questions?"

Then the flurries put to hurry,

A need to gather warmth.

I lay shaking in my narrow bed,

Dead thoughts living once again.

I slipped down into a burning fever,

And no things came into my head.

Lime and swirls dashed and curled right outside my door and it said:

"where will you go

Where will you go

You act like youre chasing a ghost

You act like youre chashing a ghost

Where will you go

Where will you go

You act like youre chasing a ghost

You act like youre chashing a ghost"