Night In December

My instinct is to loser, things linked, I'm a chooser with a think quick.

I'm running on thin sheets, sick like the wind stinks, these strings ick.

"He sings!"

Thick in a squeeze, quick to his knees, please forgive me for my memories.

I remember, leave!

Night in December, tree light, in the centre we fight.

It's getting better as we strike like we're frenemies and we have tendencies to bite.

Even though we're enemies we like to pretend we might be a friend tonight.

Be there no end insight. See you there, old friend alike.