It’s the first fall of the snow,
like dusted chalk on the ground.
It’s not like I have somewhere to go,
I’d just like to walk around
without clutching my coat like pearls
or clenching my hands in my pockets.
It’s not like I’m one of those summer girls,
I’d keep Spring and Fall in lockets.
I’d rather see a leaf fall
then another snowflake.
Watch the pile become tall,
after I’ve finally picked up my rake.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
At least this weather might force my hand
to put pen to paper to create and write.
It might be good or it might be bad,
it might be mean, it might be nice.
It could be happy or be sad,
it could be the song of fire and ice.
I have no hobbies that take place outside,
thankfully cause it’s cold with the wind’s blow,
But even when I am inside
it whispers “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
I thought I’d be safe in my home,
that’s why I made the run.
The type of chill that hits your bone
and turns your fingers numb.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
Boredom snapping a rubber band,
my southern soul wanting to take flight.
It might happen or maybe I’ll stay,
I’ll jump in or I’ll think twice.
It might be the only way,
to hear the song of fire and ice.
Isn’t it funny how we used to make snowmen.
And now every winter break, we think “here we go again.”
Singing “high ** high **
digging until our back’s ache.
With such heavy snow
until our shovel’s break.
“Winter is coming” said the wise man, running.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
At least this weather might force my hand
to put pen to paper to create and write.
It might be good or it might be bad,
it might be hell or paradise.
It might be a legacy or a worn out fad,
but it’ll be the song of fire and ice.
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 6:07 PM UTC
It’s the first fall of the snow,
like dusted chalk on the ground.
It’s not like I have somewhere to go,
I’d just like to walk around
without clutching my coat like pearls
or clenching my hands in my pockets.
It’s not like I’m one of those summer girls,
I’d keep Spring and Fall in lockets.
I’d rather see a leaf fall
then another snowflake.
Watch the pile become tall,
after I’ve finally picked up my rake.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
At least this weather might force my hand
to put pen to paper to create and write.
It might be good or it might be bad,
it might be mean, it might be nice.
It could be happy or be sad,
it could be the song of fire and ice.
I have no hobbies that take place outside,
thankfully cause it’s cold with the wind’s blow,
But even when I am inside
it whispers “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
I thought I’d be safe in my home,
that’s why I made the run.
The type of chill that hits your bone
and turns your fingers numb.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
Boredom snapping a rubber band,
my southern soul wanting to take flight.
It might happen or maybe I’ll stay,
I’ll jump in or I’ll think twice.
It might be the only way,
to hear the song of fire and ice.
Isn’t it funny how we used to make snowmen.
And now every winter break, we think “here we go again.”
Singing “high ** high **
digging until our back’s ache.
With such heavy snow
until our shovel’s break.
“Winter is coming” said the wise man, running.
So I’ll be dreaming of sun and sand,
while stuck inside both day and night.
At least this weather might force my hand
to put pen to paper to create and write.
It might be good or it might be bad,
it might be hell or paradise.
It might be a legacy or a worn out fad,
but it’ll be the song of fire and ice.
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