Skin goes bad as soon as he steps foot in,
Well there's no real good in sounding clean
If you're only going to talk dirty.
How the shoveled snow salts your shoes
How the mind's ceiling turned to gray from blue,
And the things you would do
If given the slightest opportunity.
Crystal eyes can drop like icicles
And shatter on your very figure,
Laying there like a drunk on cold concrete,
It's just a turn to the other side of a pillow,
Falling fast asleep into the darkest dreams.
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