The frost hits me in the eye
|
and wakes me
|
these are blurry winters
|
and I cannot see
|
|
I walk into the white light of the snow
|
when the sun comes
|
I break it with my shadow
|
which tells me where I go
|
|
The frost hits me in the eye
|
and wakes me
|
|
I am the snow falling down on you
|
I tear up your face with my frost
|
And make you run to somewhere warm
|
When I come I see you get away
|
I burst out about your emptyness
|
|
The frost hits me in the eye
|
and wakes me
|
these are blurry winters
|
and I cannot see
|
|
-----------------
|
On Most Surfaces (Inuit)
|
| The Gathering |
