The cold hand of death
Or so they all say
It's a concept beyond me
As why is death so cold?

In life there is warmth
We feel it and feed off it
And as death is the opposite
It certainly must be cold

And yet in our sleep
The cousin to death
Are we the most warm
Far from being cold

And also there is fever
Where to the outside
We are burning up
And yet inside, frozen

So could it not be possible
That in death to others
We are cold and lifeless
But the soul gains all the warmth

I am tired of being cold
Inside and out for so long
I wait for the warmth of another
Or wait for the warmth of death