Death Is Not Glamorous Straight Through
The days get shorter, colder, faster, every corner sharp
Gradually less gradual, the shadows grow
We should both know by now
But we’ve pulled through the coldest nights before
And we’ll pull through a thousands more
What we share gives off such heat, from behind our eyes
Through our hands and our feet
Biting at our skin, these eyes always tear up
And every inch of the ground we break
Gets frozen fast
But we make every second last
In the back of our minds, we struggle to find
On the tip of my tongue, we are still so young
So long
