Winter tastes the same this year,
Like extinguished cigarettes on the frigid floor,
And your shadowy blanket still wrapped around me,
Enlightening the darkest nooks of my mind,
And your face is still liberal with the torture,
Your memories show no mercy on my mortgaged soul,
And I know that I should know,
That this will probably never end,
Astral predictions confirm my beliefs,
My beliefs leave enough room for doubt,
And doubt,
Reminds me of you.

So you see, I’m stuck in a vicious cycle here,
Of morosity, heartache and pain,
So fuck you!
And fuck the universe!
Oh but I’d still be your furniture,
Nothing’s better,
Than having you walk all over me,
So what’s a man to do?
I repent,
But the winter still tastes the same.

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