December night

 On a December foggy night I reached for the light in my brain.

Why should I explain it can never be 2011 again. Yes, it was a real cold night. 

The wheels that stole your heart are the wheels that healed my heart.

Missing you was the last smart thing I did on my part.

  

Everyday I look at the same moon as an open wound.

It's just the way blood must flow down to the ground.

 

   

With covers ripped apart, go right back to start.

Letting things to is exactly what hurts like a needle bed in a butcher's cart.

That butcher's cart you ride carries death to your bride.

That butcher's cart you pride cuts a conscience narrow and a trail wide.

That butcher's cart you ride left me boiled, steamed, stewed and fried.

That butcher's cart you ride cut out my heart when my hands were tied.

So obviously that butcher's cart kept you rolling while my hopes died.

Until one December's foggy night I reached out and turned on the light.

In my brain, it shall never be 2011 again.

Now (now) can (can) we (we) forget the pain?