My hands are cold
they have no blood to hold
The room is dark
but I can hear her laugh
My eyes, they fear
what my ears think they hear
My head, it spins
and then my love begins
No fun
no games
just this old ball and chain
She thinks I lie
the will to cut some slack
Too young, too old
to tell what I've been told
My hands, they're cold
they need some blood to hold
(INSTRAMENTAL)
My love is back
in the ground, in black
I stool, she knows
just not how deep it goes
White guilt inspect
all lacking intellect
I talk regrets, the dying architect
Old man, unsaid
dying alone in bed
The steeps of life
are climbed best with a knife
Still young, still old
can't tell what I've been told
Put my hands, ears too cold
Soon they'll need some blood to hold