The Cold by Louis Hudson

129mmX126mm, 2B Pencil on Brown Kraft Paper, Ballpoint pen on White Cartridge Paper

The cold it starts at your finger tips and toes
From there it works it’s way to the bone
Once it’s got a hold it won’t let go

You kick and scream but it’s like a snare
You punch and shout but it goes nowhere X2

No one’s gonna rescue you from this cold forsaken place you’re doomed
If they cared they would have come
But the lies they fed you drove you numb

You swim from the island a storm kicks up
The waves they drown you you get washed up X2

On the shore you tell yourself
Just give up and embrace the hell
Cause years of struggling got you naught
Now it’s worse than it was before

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