Grow cold

In the still dead of night, a fear takes hold,

a suggestion of giving too much, then being left alone.

Time breaks your heart, and you grow cold.

 

How many times have you yearned to be bold

but afraid the cord will break and drop you with a moan.

In the dead still of night, a fear takes hold.

 

You travel to the days when they tried to mold

you, dissatisfied with your natural skin and bond.

Time breaks your heart, and you grow cold.

 

You relieve the threat of getting ironed into the fold

of a cloth without txture, music, or tone.

]In the dead still of night, a fear takes hold.

 

Night after night, the stories are told

about houses burning that you don’t own.

Time breaks your heart, and you grow cold.

 

You lose sight of the rainbow as the days unfold

counting the minutes you have yet on loan.

In the dead still of night, a fear takes hold.

Time breaks your heart, and you grow cold.