The breaking clouds might win again
They will never be my friends
Sun has left, and so close to this end
On familiar wisps I begin to depend
Where is all the white?
Everywhere are gray landscapes
Which our feet reluctantly rape
Forever wishing to escape
And scorched birch stands to forever gape
What have the hills become?
Moonbeams flee
And fresh air is free
To leave a tormented sky
With happiness gone
Children won't last last long
And the dreamers have torn out their eyes
This apocalypse of the grayest kind
This plague upon the sane man's mind
This harkened end, and we follow blind
The color is gone, it's only a sign
The dirt is all dyed black and white
