He's left in places
Filled with cars and eyelids
Fluttering like shudders
On a warm Christmas day
Opening presents that say
That they're not from
Mr. Claus anymore
No one sees the whites of her eyes anymore
Tracing irises with hands soft as stone
No one believes a word you that you hear these days

Connotated minds dot the sky
Like convulsing spires made of white
English papers that I write
Speaking my mind full of you
And all those tainted things you do
To keep warm and listless
When everything begins to break

Keeping appointments made by your God
To see if you will see this thing through
To the end of all time
When we will bury all of those
Annointed to be loved
And shrugged off like a coat
That he wears so he's not alone
As he's left in places
Filled with cars and eyelids...