They called me a pessimist
And I guess I am
I mean it's true
But it's not my fault that the autumn days are dark
Whispering harshly in the night
Ripping leaves off of trees
Leaving them limp and bare to survive winter
The little winds foreshadow the coming brutal storms
That leave us cold in terror
But the breeze is so powerful
It numbs my skin like a drug
Keeps my blood rushing, wanting more
And my eyes are pleased to see the rainfall of the leaves
From branches of clouds
So beautiful
Then comes the holidays and cremed cocoas
The laughter and the dazzling crisp snow
One true pessimist
They call me but I'll go with it and let it go