Thrashing and squirming my heart and soul;
Perhaps winter has come too soon.
Have you ever lived a life that was not yours?
Have you ever tasted sorrow that was always yours?
Have you ever turned around from what was theirs?
Perhaps winter has come too soon.
Do words ever really speak the truth?
Do they even say what they are meant to convey?
Do they ever truly reveal our hearts and souls?
Perhaps winter has come too soon.
Why, though, do we blame it on winter?
Is it because it gets dark too early?
Or the chills that accompany the night?
Or the bare, fragile branches hanging on trees?
Whatever it may be,
There’s a different kind of beauty in winter.
Maybe it's the quietness of my being
Or the slow rhythm of my heartbeats
Or the stillness in the air
Whatever it may be,There’s a different kind of beauty in winter.
Perhaps it's the icicles on rooftops
Or the softness of flurries
Or how time itself seems to freeze
Whatever it may be,
There’s a different kind of beauty in winter.
