The breeze is brisk; it is not warm.
I cannot see clear through this storm.
I take a breath that I will hold,
And hope my story will be told.
I cannot see clear through this storm.
I take a breath that I will hold,
And hope my story will be told.
I do not know where I might be,
But I hope I will be set free.
I grow colder with each breath,
And know that I must starve off death.
But I hope I will be set free.
I grow colder with each breath,
And know that I must starve off death.
The ice, it comes, I cannot speak.
It chills my blood and makes me weak.
I may be lost, I may be scared,
Perhaps my judgment is impaired.
It chills my blood and makes me weak.
I may be lost, I may be scared,
Perhaps my judgment is impaired.
I see something … is it a light?
This feels wrong … but it may be right.
It’s still so cold, I turn within,
And find warmth inside my own skin.
This feels wrong … but it may be right.
It’s still so cold, I turn within,
And find warmth inside my own skin.
It’s a lie, this I know,
I’m still trapped in ice and snow.
I’m cold and wet and full of sorrow.
But things will be better on the morrow.
I’m still trapped in ice and snow.
I’m cold and wet and full of sorrow.
But things will be better on the morrow.
