A hundred winters of decay
she's wondering if she'll be able to hold it together
for another 4 seasons
a cold haunted locker room
she's waiting at the station for sanctuary
holding open an umbrella in a padded room
while out there in the pushing plains
every explosion of the barrel
sends steel slamming souls spitting crystal fires
like a blooming orchid
agreeing in cold convulsions, losing limbs to razor winters cruelty
distant and empty cracks show through her mirror
a mystery like true carnage
cracking glass snapping large pieces of memory to cinder
and dust
breaking into asphyxiating latent mad rambling
no longer does protection exist
from all her romantic torturous notions...
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