"open mouth swallowing us..."
as it always has been I suppose...after it is said and done.All thats left is cold.
Stripped bare and left needling away at past possibilities.
With fingers that are chilled to the marrow.
I could not even point you the way home if you were standing next to me.
I do not know the road
I do not know the way
I just know it is cold
familiar yet faint
"and I can't find my way home"
because this is not home