Worn-down and cold.
The ceilings weak, the floors creak but it's home.
The scent of loneliness stings.
We share closets with skeletons, we're empty, cleared just like the cabinets.
We've got no where to go, because we all, we all know.
Our fangs and claws, aren't who really are.
This cellar's uninspiring, so quick to judge, you're too afraid to sleep.
Under shingled skin, the windows and doors are always open
Yet nothing comes out, and nothing goes in.
Maybe I'm not built to last in a scary place like this.
The walls are thin, the oxygen is thick with fear from the furnace
Paint the halls with secrets, for all we know they're listening
So they can hide like us inside until this house starts to cave in
I'm done with emotion. It's been dragging me down.
I've lost my sense of trust playing with murders and clowns.
If they could see me now, I'd show them all the
Knives and tricks that they show'd me
To re-think the things that make them happy
The clocks are whispering
As the walls gently lean in
The fire bids farewell to the ember with the willing help from the wind.
They carry past the sill, and illuminate once more.
A sense of warmth I'll never know until I open this door
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