Dying of love or hunger
Is cold in the winter.
Lips get chapped from laughter.
You have another woman.
Holidays are writhing
And squeezing spruce juice.
A white cavalry is rushing
And twirling the snow.
All the friends, the twelve months*,
Will fit at one table.
And they are calling and splitting evenly
Each of my four sides.
Holidays are writhing
And squeezing spruce juice.
A white cavalry is rushing
And twirling the snow.
Dying of love or hunger
Is cold in the winter.