○○○
The dying year weeps into the shoulder of tomorrow,
The wails of a child are no match for its gloom.
For the majesty of winter's love child,
what am I to do but bow and bleed
in the wake of the solstice?
●●●
○○○
The dying year weeps into the shoulder of tomorrow,
The wails of a child are no match for its gloom.
For the majesty of winter's love child,
what am I to do but bow and bleed
in the wake of the solstice?
●●●