The sound of new frost,
Crunching under leather boots...

On a canvas dark the painter begins,
to paint the most glorious of things...

You take me down the street,
Smiling at who we meet...

The thrill!
The rush...

If they who speak wisdom say,
What you know not...

Oh come my dear,
my companion near...

I know I shouldn't love you,
I think it's wrong to do...

The ground is rough,
hard and unyeilding...

The rustle of leaves fills the air,
They bustle from upon the ground...

It is cutting through me -
A searing pain of strength untold...

To bear the all with metted might,
Forget the doings of hidden past...

I gathered up that broken heart,
Left folorn through stromy night...