As I walk in this
dead winter, the moon
is silently moving
above the trees.
Its dimming lights
are pushing through the branches,
running through the traces
of the past
hoping to find a resolve
of his throes.
Sharp are his words
has become. Slashing,
taking a monstrous shape.
The wind is shifting.
Swiftly drifting through
my pain.
dead winter, the moon
is silently moving
above the trees.
Its dimming lights
are pushing through the branches,
running through the traces
of the past
hoping to find a resolve
of his throes.
Sharp are his words
has become. Slashing,
taking a monstrous shape.
The wind is shifting.
Swiftly drifting through
my pain.
From afar,
a light is flickering...A promise to forbid
this heart to want
him again.
