How Cold the Wind

How cold the wind
that rattles my bones,
as they creak across the wastes.
I have been wandering
these thousand miles,
and the grave is my only home

The frostbitten rattle
that's caught in my throat
is the only life in my lungs
Would that I could,
I'd thaw by the fire,
but the grave is my only home.

I stagger alone through
the frozen hills,
keeping time to my
clacking maw.
I never keep much company,
as the grave is my only home.

Tired am I, but I get no rest
as I haven't slept in years.
But I never intend
to warm my bed
in the grave, my only home.