Cold Death Blessed with Feel

To write
To write
What should I write?
When the world falls apart
and the blossoms turn gold
When the heaviness brings
not a passing air's hold,
Does the graveyard below
and the swamp set above
not know heavens or angels
or devilish crowns?
When the words fall from silence
on days swept in tears
and the colder they get
the less solid they feel,
the carnations are blooming
and bursting below,
letting light in the shadows
but not in the fro.
Will the angry emotion
not pass by my feet?
Will it settle inside me,
no more real than deceit?
I know nothing besides you
and you're nothing for me,
So I write you these songs
of cold deaths blessed with feel.