The clouds grow dark
the clouds grow dense
the howling gale
now picks up pace
a lonely weary traveller
now hides his face
melancholy settles at every place
flowers wither hither thither
leaves crunch under his feet
he goes on, no one to meet
rain steps in, cold
he steps through it, bold
his hair shines like snow
forests brown rivers grey
trees without leaves
the silver moon
hides behind the clouds
the smile he had, wiped off
yet the traveller, jaded
moves on along the path
everything turns white
its an artists nightmare
decembers gone yet
here to stay
the traveller lies cold on the road
no one to take him where he goes
no one there to show the way
and slower still his breath fades
the heat of himself dying away
a pleading cry
tears through the sky
as he goes into his icy shrine
the winter shows no respite
no ray of hope in this gloom
no flowers around there bloom
to mark the place where the traveller lay
no flowers to lay upon his grave
no flowers to lay upon his grave...
