Words & Music by Mike Power

Nothing that elicits or inspires desire
Is welcome in the place anymore

The wind that you hear crying
Isn’t crying out of hope or need
The hottest we can get is warm
But there is no bottom to the cold cold cold cold

The impossible, that became the unthinkable,
Became the impractical before becoming the inevitable

Now the words we were afraid to say
Have become carved in stone
On the markers of our graves:
“I don’t want that”
And “I do”