The smell of cinnamon hung heavy in the air, 
as the candle on the desk flickered in the breeze 
from the badly [bad word] window.
His lavender hands have intentions
Stay close to keep warm.

Outside the people are marching in the snow
Flaming torches for the capital city
Heavy shoulders hung low
Swollen hands fill empty pockets.

Three stories up the buzz of the street camera drowns out our words
I’ve got so much to say but I hate talking loud
Outside the spiral winds down [bad word] out of time
But tonight darling
You’re mine.