Adam calls me through the blizzard,
Crying for his supposed savior.
Thinking I could end his torment
With all of my misbehavior.
I stumbled onward towards the shouting
And the distant hazy light
But as our Mary loomed before me
My eyes were blinded in her sight.
Mother Mary won’t you save me
From this masochistic game?
Your icy tears don’t comfort dearly,
Much is sadness all the same.
Adam’s arms are twisting through me
As I lay down in the street.
His hands enclose my eyelids tightly
“Won’t you come to bed, my sweet?
He found me early in the morning
Buried three feet deep in snow,
Clinging only to the notebook
Filled with things I used to know.
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