The cold may bite, the wind may knock you flat
A soul of ice may try and draw your heart
This world denies the highs, ideas will hatch
To rise above the plight of faded art

Untold the fables from our twisted collapse
Becoming bold of scolding chills to start
Composing worlds from which I may depart
I know I maybe old I can relax

I hold my dues to point me to the track
To walk another century entrapped
In meaning from the crap to talk so smart
To wean my way off death to take my part

As blessed are those of no disguise or lie
A whiter shade of truth may still defy


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