The perfect picture.
You,
the stone-faced madman that haunts the night.
Me,
your broken child.

Hand in hand,
blood to blood against the darkness,
in each other
and in ourselves

Smoke is etched to the pitch black canvas of the sky
Drawing a pattern that you will surely understand
But that I will call nonsense and ignore

I cut the last rose from our winter garden
Soon we will retreat from this freezing hell
Hide from the world again

Only one more you say
One last rose
The last blood to be shed this winter

I am not sure that I can hold you to that promise
When we hide from the world and madness creeps closer for every hour
we stay locked up between the stone walls of our castle,
our fortress,
our prison.

Will my love be enough this winter?

This time your wounds are bleeding
And my inner voice is screaming
This time I think that we might both be dying.

Dance with me I say,
Before the nature takes away, the last thing that is ours.