Striped bare and raw, left to the quiet of my cold. I feel my soul slipping as it breaks and becomes old. Nothing is left, not even you and I. Yes you sit and stare grinning as I slowly die inside. How can I go on? A question left unanswered, this love was sick, fragile and cancered. Infected and full, we start to pull… away. Only one voice left begging for this here to stay. As time runs out, this question becomes key. Will you in fact, be the final, death of me?