the dying and the dead

It's cold in here.

It's so cold, so cold here.

The ashes floating in the air and no ballerina to dance to this tragedy.

Quivering...as the bitterness slows down the blood, then the ice crawls up and above.

Torn away and torn down it's never going to be stable in this place.

Broken to pieces and broken beyond repair and the only feeling left is cold.

It's cold, it's too cold anymore to care.

The sun doesn't rise, doesn't shine in here.

Petrified...as the pain kills everything, leaving vacant and empty cold.

Cracked up and down this spine, it's never going to be possible to walk out of this place.

It's cold in here.

So cold.

Features tend to become so frail that they crumble to the touch and the company can't stay.

It's cold, it's too cold anymore to care.

The boat has arrived and the passage through that river leads to a place of silence and grey.