Home in December

Yo. To whom it may concern, I left my past in the

rearview glass after her furnace flame burst. The bridge smoldered to ashes and

burned slow. My soul yearned, vision was blurred, hope buried deep below.

I wish I could have been everything that I said I was 'stead of a

selfish case of insecure and empty words. Highs and lows or the furs,

I would clothe in the cloak my hurts and hide my scars in the

church. We could find a way to make it right. If you want

to, I'll find it with you. Yo. Yo.