Coat the old snow, grey and dirtied
To pristine white, and show the crowds.
Coat the sky in endless flurries
Hide the truth in snowy shrouds.  
Let them see it solid, flawless
Before the footsteps break the dream,
And show the past we hid for solace
From knives that cut the fragile seams.
Tell them it’s a perfect wonder,
Nothing damaged, nothing black.
Don’t let them see the dying embers,
Don’t let them look behind their backs.
If they ask how it’s perfection,
Smile sweet, then smoothly lie,
In the endless recitation:
“Who cares to know the reasons why?”
Don’t show them all the broken windows,
Hidden in the snowy hills.
Swallow all your heavy sorrows,
And grin against the biting chills.
If they ask about the color,
Tell them snow is clear and pure,
And we’ve no need for any other,
That whiteness is the perfect cure.

Coat the old snow, white and plain,
Create the dream and make it last.
When they’re not looking, hide the pain,
Hide the truth and hide the past.