He's been afraid to walk outside
No one could help him even if they tried
That constant fear of growing old
That constant fear of getting cold
But he's been trying so hard
Not to break or fall apart
So I hate the winter and the way it keeps me up
And I think it's fine to say that I am far passed f*cked up
Now in the morning everything is cold
Something of poet, something made of gold
A frail entity who's trailed of way too far
In the dead of night, now, but a star