When the pack ice closes in and the evening ends only to begin,there comes a point when you realise
you cannot win.
The world will spin but you do not because you're rooted to the spot and you haven't got a clue,you don't know what to do and so you freeze.
The morning breeze unfreezes you but still you don't know what to do and you shiver in the early air wishing you were anywhere but here,
and the fear you feel is just as real as shadows that you cast,though you know deep down that fear like shadows fades away and does not,cannot last.
The summer comes,that evening goes but you felt the melt of snow along your spine
so you sit and wait 'til it gets quite late and you do it all the time,but time is moving on and you're still rooted to the spot,still without a clue,still do not know what to do and really there's no helping someone who's closed off like you.
The ice holds tight
for some the night will never end and some will never lend their eyes to gaze upon the clear blue...
lights and skies and butterflies and I have wandered through the why's and wherefore's
stored multitudes of memory in the rack,been there and back and still the ice pack closes in,
this spin of mine ,this start and stop and waste of time,this snow that melts along my spine,
in the shallows of my mind I dine alone.