them

what a bore

little whore

what a chore to explore

such a snore

to endure such a lure

not obscure. but I'm sure

I love pure

I'm not sure

I love her

I'm not sure of many more

I've grown cold

heart of mold

crown of thorns

brain of gold

never hold me like this

never hold on my old love

never hold

I unfold 

and it's empty

love steams cold

string me, bold

hold me close

let me go

bloody snow

let me go

glass can grow

let me go

gut my soul

let me go

cut my role

let me go

find my home

I must go

trust my soul

I must go 

find my home