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Sniffle
Sun rots inside the window
Sitting in its throne of dead stone
Ski slope down the hills
That drain down your body
To the clouds that wipe away
The crowded tears never shallow
Just sick and solid
In your voice that sits inside your throat
Waiting to sprout out and see the sun
And bow before his majesty
Oh, so grand
Oh, so bright
As you curled up to sniffle
A rose is an itch
A rose is a scab
That you just have to pick
A rose will only grow
In the sunlight's kingdom
Oh, so grand
Oh, so bright
