November

It's like you're singing me a song, and you're singing the lyrics wrong, but not to the point where recognition is difficult. You're also slightly singing off key, but I say nothing because you're singing to me. Every now and then you pause to see if I'm still there, you sigh to hear me respond, you see, you think you're only fair. And if that is so, then you and I are at the top of the most daring ride, and I rattle our seats to see your reaction. Your face is stone, your skin is cold. It's like you fear no death unto. Not only that, but maybe it's because, if you fell, I would fall too.