When the ink is dry, or at your deathbed, you can damn your poison words
It seems you have run out of regard for moralistic ideals
Just turn your head when confronted with the truth
And hope that your new life is all that you wished for
Adjusted the definition of loss
Is it just coincidence that it fits so well here?
Restitution comes passing through and it won't even walk through the first door
Face north and greet the cold that times your pulse
North, directionally outright, straightforward
Face north and greet the cold that times your pulse
North, truest of all points
Points, that you have failed to make