What keeps us down,
What keeps us low
On this deathbed, too early in the show
Of showers of snow.
For my form has gone cold,
And weep over the both of us,
For we both seemed to have died.
Lie awake for me, so that I may pet flesh
As the phantom I am.
As cold as the winter around,
And as the snow that has drifted
Into your frozen eyes.