Even as I sit here
Spring's slowly made from Winter...

Twisted heaps of steaming metal
blood-speckled concrete looking industrially...

Risen suns
Fade to darkness...

Dying shadows
Leaping flames...

The rain fell thick but slowly
As if grief had stolen...

All eloquence faltering
Composure slipping...

Down in the dumps
Like the shadows upon the ceiling...

The gate stood open, reaching
Out into the still darkness...

Flurries of snow, flickering 'cross the road.
Stars like angel eyes in the darkness above...

Twisted treasure
Burning ashes...

Blurring lines of purple and blue
Coldplay seems to match the winter...

The open fields
The crisp air...