Outside, it's cold.
I'm lost and this is not my place.
You creep on me; the first sign I know's the teeth and blood.

Tear me apart.
You could kill me and I'd let you,
For my crimes.
I'm not worth saving and neither are the rest of my kind.

You're just doing what you do,
You're just cleaning up.
Cleanse this place of memories of all we thought we were but aren't.

I don't hold this against you.
You're the ones with souls.
We lost ours in the garden at the foot of that tree,
Which we've been hanging on ever since.

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