Here comes winter trial, wishing I could remember
being a child. On my knees
again begging for Jesus or
maybe an OK friend. I have
been betrayed, by an anger
that broke me, broke me.
Here's to what I could have
done. Another year passes I
still feel on the run. Pull the winter inside me, I draw
a picture, but it's not the
way you plan, ever. Round
cold Christmas time I never
feel quite real. My family
fucks me up, some wounds
don't ever seem to heal, I
get drunk to forget their
faces but part of me still misses a home. His holy
infancy won't fill the hole.
Round yon virgin tenderness
be kind. The faithless they
need you more than you
realize. It seems like around
Christmas time we're all
hanging by thin strings. I
try to dry my eyes but the
rain just seems to cling,
just seems to cling. Sleep
and hope for January.