| I have no head
|
| The forest floor is my bed
|
| The leaves that fall I use as a blanket
|
| For my bones are as cold as lead
|
| The weight of all those hungry mouths
|
| The things they said
|
| I have no eyes
|
| The forest floor I despise
|
| But I will not be gone in the morning
|
| I will lie, still here, I will lie
|
| You said to meet at the edge of the trees
|
| On a Monday afternoon
|
| I waited until the moon
|
| Lay on your back, breathe it in
|
| The sickly sweet of my rotting skin
|
| And you followed the road
|
| And it was just our dust, just our dust
|
| The trace of your steps
|
| Leads right to where I took my breath
|
| For the last time, it lingers forever
|
| As a ghost of where we last met
|
| The stars were not so brave to show
|
| What they don’t know
|
| Standing there in the frosty air
|
| I knew our time had come
|
| And you followed the road
|
| And it was just our dust
|
| I feel no pain
|
| The blood is frozen in my veins
|
| And although you were here in the morning
|
| My skin was cold before you came |