heart racing in the november cold, wind on poppy-red cheeks. i’ve got nothing left but rotting husks of corn, and flickering sheaths of wheat. so i’m running through the valley, i’m running through the trees. ’cause all that i’ve got left is hay and black feathers, woven into wings. come two weeks, the snow will start falling, and the river will flood. we’ll be wading through the murky water, with too many hearts to bury. so i run for my life, wind biting into my cheeks. i spill my guts out onto the floor. we’ll clean it up later, won’t we? when superheroes fly down from the sky, when aliens come to save us all. heart racing in november cold, i’m running through the trees. they promised they’d take care of it. but now the flowers are coming up in november, and the water’s all the way up to my knees.