Winter’s Gate, Pt. 3

And yet it wrings me Like a strange cold hand and yet it burns me Like a viper’s tongue And yet it wrings me Like a strange cold hand and yet it burns me Like a viper’s tongue And yet it wrings me Like a strange cold hand and yet it burns me Like a viper’s tongue Better it would be to lie on bed of silt And watch the moon’s face From under the waves Better it would be to rest on bed of mire Inside the ocean’s womb Dreaming of days long gone days long gone! Sunless, starless pathless is the way