Oh, Miss Believer, my pretty sleeper
Your twisted mind is like snow on the road
Your shaking shoulders prove that it's colder
Inside your head than the winter of dead

I will tell you I love you
But the muffs on your ears will cater your fears
My nose and feet [bad word] as we start
To travel through snow
Together we go

We get colder
As we grow older
We will walk
So much slower

Oh, Miss Believer, my pretty weeper
Your twisted thoughts are like snow on the rooftops
Please, take my hand, we're in foreign land
As we travel through snow
Together we go

We get colder
As we grow older
We will walk
So much slower

 [bad word]  [bad word] twentyone_pilots