In my own little cell I lock me away,

                 
Away from the eyes that cut like knives.

                      
I seek my solace in my own stare.

                      
But I still feel trapped in life.

             
I slip into a second womb of warmth and pain,

                                
Never to feel again.
                                   
The winter comes

                                  
And I must sleep.
               
The salt of my eyes and the salt of my arms

                               
Mix in a pool of red.

                       
I close my eyes; I hang my head.

                     
The water is warm, yet I grow cold.

                                     
Never to feel

                                    
Or to grow old.
                                   
The winter comes

                                  
And I must sleep.
                         
Unto the winds I cast my fate.

                    
I softly cough; the hour grows late.

                     
I look back at what is left behind,

                         
As I sink slowly into my mind.

                         
A million stars I start to see

                            
Under the obsidion canopy.
                                   
The winter comes

                                  
And I must sleep.
                          
I settle back let out a sigh

                 
My pain goes away , my eyes finally dry.

                                   
The winter comes

                                  
And I must sleep.

                                
The night grows dark

                                    
As I grow weak.

 

 
                                       
© 1996 Thor

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