You're starved, and you're cold, your skin it loosely hangs, from bones,
and your gut starts to protrude from you.
The winter has you, as your feet are numb, and skin turns black, nerves recoil,
Flesh peels back, from the toil and winter's breath.
Your eyes, they sink in, you are now rotting and, your mind is racing,
willing to do anything, to survive means butchering anything alive is for the taking,
Mad as a hatter, to birth a monster, out of winter, from this famine.
Hands hit like roughened stones, bludgeoning weak people, hunt them down as they run,
to feast on their flesh and blood, fingers pull the meat from bone, consuming to fill a boundless hole,
Crimson staining cracks in lips, and crusts onto finger tips.
Your skin, tough and old, you are now rotting for, your mind is racing,
willing to do anything, to survive means butchering anything alive is for the taking,
Mad as a hatter, to birth a monster, out of winter, from this famine.
Hands hit like roughened stones, bludgeoning weak people, hunt them down as they run,
to feast on their flesh and blood, fingers pull the meat from bone, consuming to fill a boundless hole,
Crimson staining cracks in lips, and crusts onto finger tips.
