You’re running out of time now
The winter comes on strong, too long for you to wait
Don’t wake your painted face
The sake should hold your place
For sale a million miles from here:
A portrait paradise where the sun only shines
And the seasons never change
And change never withholds your life to spare
Cast off, sit back
Take off those troubled shoes
Raise your feet and tell us of the damage that was done
Inside the places that you’ve seen
What’s left of them anyway, what’s left of you?
Have you seen your own reflection as of late?
Surely something’s wrong, could the sights have gone aghast when you were looking for the sound
Of dulling rifles in the distance?
Cry allegro, allegra, voice ignites the flame
As ashes pile on, until the Winter’s gone
What’s worse, hypothermia, or when you suffocate?
The wood will flare and crackle and the soap will fill your lungs, it’s the same ball and chain
We look back on the forest that stood here and notice only charred stumps remain
If the field could grow taller than the plains in the side yard we’d have subsistence,
But fertile be the land if dangerous the skies, and the ground’s been resisted