I dreamt of a fever,
one that would cure me of this cold winter set heart,
with heat to melt these frozen tears, and burned with reasons
as to carry on.
Into these twisted months I plunge without a light to follow
but I swear that I would follow anything,
just get me out of here.
And you get six months to adapt,
and you get two more to leave town.
and in the event that you do adapt, we still might not want you around.
But I fell for the promise of a life with a purpose,
but I know that that's impossible now.
And so I drink to stay warm,
and to kill selected memories,
cause I just can