The distance it allows at first
|
The change is felt through the air
|
The mother of nature speaks discontently
|
|
As death tends to whisper defiance
|
Thinks it´s surprising, fully expected
|
Heavily unwelcomed, purposely unhidden
|
There to accomodate
|
A more sensible whiskey warmth
|
Had my fills of somber hearts and lost souls
|
|
Bleak ember grey, dismal drear
|
Catastrophic in its own simple right
|
Tolerance as low as low
|
Unfortunately cold is cold
|
Scold the mother whore
|
For shaking the season´s core
|
|
Unprepared as always
|
Suspiciously sneaking into
|
Mammoth proportions
|
An emblem of frigid bones
|
And desolate hopes
|
|
The here is now
|
An icy adversary of a piercing sort
|
Wintry blue lunacy in the eyes
|
No choice but to hibernate
|
Against these skies
|
|
Biting bitterness
|
Bitten
|
Blizzard blowing
|
Nipping at the fine line of your neck
|
Horrendous glacial
|
Facial disfiguration
|
Beaten red raw by the arctic fist
|
|
Pummelled quite considerably
|
Frozen bricks hold the spirit down
|
Destined to find the elusive shelter
|
Set aside reclusion from the numbing mind
|
|
Winteresque barren portrait
|
Painted miserably white
|
|
Living Earth
|
Postponed in bereavement
|
Temporarily cessated
|
Untimely anytime
|
This unthawing persistance
|
|
Our fine feathered friends
|
Seem smarter than they appear
|
Should´ve scrambled to join them
|
On these months that are so feared
|
|
Ferocious gusts, tempestuous winds
|
Drifting bales, infinitized
|
Unbeareble haze
|
Trapped like a rat in a maze
|
Just when you thought enough was too much
|
For the desperate masses... and then it passes
|
|
-----------------
|
. . . And Then It Passes
|
| Cryptopsy |
