Its cold out here

Its cold out here
The birds I cant hear
in the morning of dew has now become in the morning of icicles
Jack frost hasn't just wokin up, No he's running rampid and chaotic
No sun , moon, nor wind will help cease his artful fingers
Its cold out here
But theres a smell that refreshes the mind
Awakes the body not in the same tenderness as summer but with a pure
potion on the edge of dawn
Winter shall we find it? Like a embrace of lovers
Its cold out here
Yet the dead trees still seem alive
the rivers are still flowing towards the shores
and just maybe you can see what beauty lies beneath
Its cold out here, its cold out here
So stop to hear winters lustful sneer

Its cold out here