It's cold in here
Don't you agree?
A listless fear
Coils around your ear
The world slithers by
Like a promise through your fingers
And your voice is lost
Buried in a quiet cough
In a little white box
The mad shadow has shed its skin
While your own grows paper thin
And nothing is sacred, not even your heart
No, nothing is sacred, not even your heart
If the taste of your blood
Will keep you here
You'll keep biting your tongue
In silent prayer, silent prayer