The night creeps through my bones with a winter's chill
sending shivers down my spine, like cold hands across my skin.
Five months have past and taken with them every sense of warmth,
until my blood ran cold and life stood still.

And still I hold my breath, counting the nights, I've stood with my heart in hand.
And still I hold my breath, counting the nights.
Waiting for silence to break me down again.

If only you could see
see it in my eyes
how much it means. your touch. your smile.
To a heart that's beat has long since given out and given in.

The night opens wide, swallowing every sense.
Embracing me with emptiness.
The night opens wide, swallowing every sense.
Embracing me with emptiness.
The hours have become irritations and I find myself reduced to life's imitation.
The hours have become irritations and I find myself reduced to life's imitation.

How can we truly say that we are alive when everything I see in me is screaming?
How can we truly say that we are alive when everything I see in me is screaming otherwise.
Is screaming otherwise.

'Cause five months have passed and taken with them every sense of warmth.
Until my blood ran cold and life stood still, and life stood still.

The hours have become irritations, and I find myself reduced to life's imitation.
The hours have become irritations, and I find myself reduced to life's imitation.

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