This sweater knitted by me isn’t warm enough to heat your cold heart.
You were the centre of my attention, you let love burn.
With the expectation of holding it forever,
my hands freed you, my wool unknitted our affection.
This winter I’ll let you wear something other than me,
December would be harsh on you,
you better burn fire with that insensitive heart of yours.
I’ll be warm while weaving my accomplishment,
with the sun kindness I’ll be gleaming with my love.