She's tired

Crying at the icy window, nobody outside
Her warm fingers trace patterns of hearts
That soon melt away with the softest of breath
Just like her own, she is so tired

Vacant, oh so vacant, the stare that unlocks the bathroom
Cold, tired fingers turning old tired taps, begging for tepid water
To warm her chilled heart streams and Bering sea blood
She uses no cheap poundshop bubble bath today, hard soap cleans

A valve in her mind shattered, like an old guitar amp feedback burn
Too many old albums, she never really liked cds, tapes she could stand
Her feet warmed slightly by the water, her love still frozen in minds ice
She laughs at the pubic nastiness of her razor and awaits the last winter

She was a lovely lady.