Cold Air Burns the Lungs

Run like a madman bust' out of his cell
Fast as dead legs can from a lifeless spell Inside a heated box the oxygen
depletes Left to dwell in dreary days of un-amazing feats
I pray to the Son of Man
I find I speak in tongues
It’s the only way I can
When all this cold air burns the lungs Inside a skeptic’s mind I find a comfy
seat
Sit back, relax, unwind
A cowardly retreat
Fit as a fiddle far as all my friends can tell But this wicked bruise My
restless mind Will continue to swell
I wonder is the strength I need to refine more than I can muster?
Each day against these dreams of mine Days just seem to lack the luster