Cryptopsy – . . . and then it passes

The distance it allows at firstThe change is felt through the airThe mother of nature speaks discontentlyAs death tends to whisper defianceThinks it´s surprising, fully expectedHeavily unwelcomed, purposely unhiddenThere to accomodateA more sensible whiskey warmthHad my fills of somber hearts and lost soulsBleak ember grey, dismal drearCatastrophic in its own simple rightTolerance as low as lowUnfortunately cold is coldScold the mother whoreFor shaking the season´s core Unprepared as alwaysSuspiciously sneaking intoMammoth proportionsAn emblem of frigid bonesAnd desolate hopesThe here is nowAn icy adversary of a piercing sortWintry blue lunacy in the eyesNo choice but to hibernateAgainst these skiesBiting bitternessBittenBlizzard blowingNipping at the fine line of your neckHorrendous glacial

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