"
days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your
When the days are cold
When we are down - maybe from the realization of the futility of our condition - the "beast inside" that we can't overcome - or mulling over the mess we've made.
And the cards all fold
Things are not going right - even the "hand we've been dealt" - the odds are stacked against us - the only sensible choice we have is to "fold" to stay in the game
And the saints we see are all made of gold
Seeing that everyone has it together - maybe it seems like they have no demons, or they have it under control - it just compounds our sadness, i.e. why can't I get it right?