Warm air and brisk lives
Slipping away like the hand of a child
Cold touch and sharp knives
You never knew what lead to this dolor.
Cruel and cold,
Yet warm and mellow when you dive in
The December to my Magi
And Messiah to your Mary.
The child who couldn't tell the difference between the lotus and water lily.
Feeble and secure
the noble who crossed the crown And snatched your keys
In bed with thy Queen
And the death to your Glory.