The wind at the end of a November night is as cold as the silent shudder of Satan, himself.
and I'll surrender just one toe unto the frost snow.
I'll take a sweep at the ice that falls from the sky with the fingertips of fear.
And if the chill is just enough, Il'l lightly step outside.
My circulation is cut, it sauters me, and I'll make footprints leading a mile away.
The air is thick and snow gently salts the winter-bound earth.
Standing, with hands at the Heaven, I ask Him to take me back.


For I have lost faith the my cries were heard,
lost in the static of the fog.
Burrowing their way, unsheltered, my words blaze through the mist--lingering.
Clouding my eyes and thickening my blood over this silent Death By Night.

Powerless and belittled I am, weakened at the knees I become.
The negative temperature constrict my veins.
My feet are as blue as the fog that remains above me.
Lungs sinch off as this prayer comes true; air is in short supply.
This night 'o this night, is it worth surviving?
For you who has finally left.

When the earth finalls catches my being, my face is scratched by the axes of the tiny ice shards.
No one is awake.
Snow builds over me and the occasional wind will dust off a layer; revealing my bruised and wounded skin.
But, never-the-less, burried.
and when I awake I'm in no place that I could call my home.

His hand is holding mine as he pulls me up.
The snow is gone and this delightful spring day warms me up inside.
Frozen, I cannot remember, or the reason I became the way.

"Stand with me under the sun," He says, "it'll rescue you from your death.
The frozen burial in which you've burrowed--yourself and all your pain."
On hands and knees i beg and pray to undo the unwanted mistakes.
Bowing His head in silence and discrace, His mask is removed and the serpent reveals his face.
"This is Hell 'o joyous singer of disregarded melodies, I can keep you safe."