Horrific is the cold,
That burns within,
A slow heart.
Can't you feel,
Its aching breeze,
Gusting in the spring?
Cloak your exposed mind,
Or it may die,
A hypothermic death.
That burns within,
A slow heart.
Can't you feel,
Its aching breeze,
Gusting in the spring?
Cloak your exposed mind,
Or it may die,
A hypothermic death.
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