Here comes winter trial, wishing I could remember being a child. On my knees again begging for Jesus or maybe an OK friend. I have been betrayed, by an anger that broke me, broke me. Here's to what I could have done. Another year passes I still feel on the run. Pull the winter inside me, I draw a picture, but it's not the way you plan, ever. Round cold Christmas time I never feel quite real. My family fucks me up, some wounds don't ever seem to heal, I get drunk to forget their faces but part of me still misses a home. His holy infancy won't fill the hole. Round yon virgin tenderness be kind. The faithless they need you more than you realize. It seems like around Christmas time we're all hanging by thin strings. I try to dry my eyes but the rain just seems to cling, just seems to cling. Sleep and hope for January.