With such a loose grip on nostalgia
The warmth is far fading for this faceless author
The paw prints left in the snow get covered as the cold keeps freezing every trail I've walked
The moth to flame ratio has lit dark paths
I adore my burning candle for her fire and wax
Symbolic are ashes that dispel the past
When blown away and take note that my tongue is the match
I'm becoming the mask that made Skullkid's goal to have the moon crash down to destroy the world
As the noise differed the silence that's cursed the waves of younger generations with their heads in the soil
No right to bite back so I have to recoil with teeth marks on both arms
I've abstained from foiling the high horse riders for the fear of war
Because being outnumbered feels like being alone
Let's go home