Well, it's cold and it's quiet, and cobblestone cold in here
Fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again
Lonely is all we are
Lovely so far, but my heart's still a marble in an empty jelly jar
Someday suppose that my curious nervousness stills into prescience, clairvoyant consciousness
I will be calmer than cream, making maps out of your dreams
But will psychic ability kill the nativity or simply diminish the flinch?
Young liars, thank you for taking my hands and burying them deep in the world's wet wom
Where no one can heed their commands