I have died many times in the white wilderness.

A heartbreak, a numb hand, a fiery tear from the gentle flames of a bonfire.
Death is preparing us, every day with its shadowy hiss.

If we're quite enough, we can be comforted by the gatekeeper.
But if we thrash & slither, the mountains will swallow you.

Death in White Winter, up in the clouds, in the mountains. What a way to go!