| The Coldest Winter Has Yet To Come |
| The winds outside my window Are hushed by the torrid human screams Oh, often times are The times we rarely see Enigmatic, Problematic, Automatic Graves have yet to be dug And the coldest rivers have yet to run And the coldest winters have yet to come The estranged wanderer wonders Can freedom really protect itself 17 nihilistic poets self proclaim The future of life is death Electrostatic, most times sproratic Collections sit under the previous sun And the coldest rivers have yet to run And the coldest winters have yet to come The practicing preacher and performing congressman Is promising to lead his people to the promised land Never learning for whom the bells tolled Doesn't matter, the great bells have already rung By this time tomorrow, the storm will have all but passed Casting all speculations, buring them under the grass And the coldest rivers have yet to run And the coldest winters have yet to come |