February

bold now, the chariot's arriving
and i am twelve closer to dying
sickening that i could've been counting men
and it still would've made sense

hold now, the pitchfork is arriving
my conciense is so close to diving
i hope you will go right
i don't want to have to die tonight

breathe deep and hope for more than silence
too cold, but i'm too weak to try this
ask me, only to make me sad
to do what i already have

never ask me to lie with you while you die.
never ask me to lie with you while you die.
never ask me, i have so many times.
i have so many times.