Its cold out here

The birds I cant hear

in the morning of dew has now become in the morning of icicles

Jack frost hasn’t just woking up, No he’s running rampid and chaotic

No sun , moon, nor wind will help cease his artful fingers

Its cold out here

But there’s a smell that refreshes the mind

Awakes the body not in the same tenderness as summer but with a pure potion on the edge of dawn

Winter shall we find it? Like a embrace of lovers

Its cold out here

Yet the dead trees still seem alive

the rivers are still flowing towards the shores and just maybe you can see what beauty lies beneath

Its cold out here, its cold out here

So stop to hear winters lustful sneer

Its cold out here