Impressions Of Winter The Awakening
My dear, I died so long ago
Cold is my heart, and dull my soul
Oh, I was sure to love you so
But all my mind’s a shapeless hole
Look, no more objects, no ideals
They’re shattered; and ahead no goal
No hand that guides, no hand that heals
Each day means going on the prowl
And morning comes; I’m thrown again
Out of the nightmares into day
And sleep is pain and wake is pain
Both ground and heaven slightly sway
