A melancholy town; branched off a dying plant.
The ephemeral sun; piercing through the quiet chant.
Young boys playing on the dirt road
The landscape devours the subtle mould.
Winter would be coming soon.

The hope and future of the young boys,
rest within the fleeting motion.
Armageddon, bring with it no noise.
And all hope shall be brought forth in its purest notion.
Winter would be coming soon.

A dreary window in which man looks in
Nothing but pride left, he stands lifting his chin
Hereditable wisdom brought from each kin
It wouldn't be far till it would soon begin.
Winter would be coming soon.

A hurricane arose, and with it a crow.
The immaculate power, pure as the snow.
Judgment descended on the town they did know
The boys were long gone out of the town they'd outgrow.
Winter was here, t’was a great show.