I press your hand in mine however cautiously, I keep a smile right to myself
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And I lapse into the grasp of an overriding obsession
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And I get sick as I watch my interests fall into suspension
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This Winter
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So cold, Creeping down your arm
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Stealth soldiers, Creeping around your palm
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It's hard, hard to understand
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Little victories won creeping around your hand
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The sickness has taken hold through violent, blurted syllables
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Escape my mouth under my breath
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The voice of pricking dread is whispering insistent in my ear
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My paranoia galvanised by your gaze, so austere
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This Winter...
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I pinned your crest to my chest, hoping it might start to look right
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There was hushed talk of young boy's corpse lying face down in some river
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His hands used to move like mine
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I can't stand myself this morning, i am practically that boy
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No strength to endure, Ghostly insecure, Pallid through lack of choice
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This winter...
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-----------------
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Little Victories
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The Horrors |