Warm, my winter of desire; snow covers the frightened
Spirits of spring, this dance is stirring a feeling so dead
This fire, my lungs have to be warmed by your breath
me i cannot breathe need the summer to burn through my leaves
as we drown them in the mailbox I am loving your microphone
while your soda comes to see that dead tongue
I lick your fingers and taste the ghost whiskey inside your
lungs
I fall through the pages of your bible and tonight I burn
for my sins
a witch on trial for crimes i cannot begin to explain.
you're such a blue screen
the machine's making noise as we dream.
