The snow falls in patterns   that compliment your moods.   It's coloring your face a differnet shade   and it's poisoning your blood   with a brand new kind of love   It's puncturing your skin   Did you know what you were getting into?      The world asleep   thirty bags empty   Is this how you want to feel?      The snow is melting now   (the temperature makes this feeling pure now)   and flowing through your veins   (just a little bit more now)      A made bed is better than   making your way into a coffin