It can be cold out, dark out and bleak
and it never does matter, the day of the week
early to rise, or late down to bed
visions of peace, or feelings of dread
No matter the time, no matter the place
no matter the tears, that sweep down my face
through thick, through thin, they come when i call
they dont judge my needs, they judge not at all
they are my comfort, my peace, and my joys
I wouldnt survive, for if not my boys
They pick me back up, when i do stumble
they are not proud, my fellas are humble
I purse my lips, and wait for their kiss
the rushing cold feelings, becoming my bliss
after each time they visit, i mutter a sigh
as I watch the cold nights, warm, and pass by
My favorite boys, there is nothing they lack
within glass bottles, my Jose, Jim, and Jack.

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