The way she has frozenin the paths of nature
reminds me of a flow
of the air, cold, wind
everything dear to us
inside of our own sight
of ice, and loveless
hearts made of stones
We killed the snowflake
by turning on the fire
burning the own house
there's no more cold
rooms, walls and holes
and life can continuetime is ticking louder
now is the time to run
from the place in fire
we killed the winter:
The slobbering beast
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