Mr. Boxgroveman

Cold here don’t be afraid
That’s angels for you
Think they ran away
Empire, exhausted seam
Got a few years behind you
And a few years in front of you
Not many dreams

And maybe inside of you
There’s a sickness that’s running deep
Deep down into bone
And you’re unaware

I’ve gone to ground
I’m lost and I wanna be found

Cold here but having fun
That’s angels for you
The canvas runs
I hold your hand
In the movie’s last reel
In the pit of the fleapit
On the iron wheel

Cold now but unafraid
Lay your head on the ground
Let it fall away
I’ll hold your hand

They say we don’t like touching
We don’t like talking
We don’t like laughing
A good day’s worth celebrating
I don’t like pleading
Don’t like believing
We don’t like touching
We don’t like thinking
We don’t like touching
We don’t like fucking