Well, it's cold and it's quiet, and cobblestone cold in here

Fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again

Lonely is all we are

Lovely so far, but my heart's still a marble in an empty jelly jar

Someday suppose that my curious nervousness stills into prescience, clairvoyant consciousness

I will be calmer than cream, making maps out of your dreams

But will psychic ability kill the nativity or simply diminish the flinch?

Young liars, thank you for taking my hands and burying them deep in the world's wet womb

Where no one can heed their commands