Snow falls on grey set sun
Unhuman sounds sift through
December long and dark
Yet her warmth sustains my heart
Cross rooftops wet we run
Chased by angered few
No angels left to hark
No beauty music soul or art.

Should she love me so
With cheeks blushed rose
And eyes so fallen blue
Where be my saving cross
I would that she let me know
Let heart to soft pink glows
And leave this garnished hue
To places not with snow but moss.

March through white cast streets
Carnival of of fools follow
Idiots holding cross aloft
Clasping Bible to weathered chest
From above we watch these fleets
From black and craven hollow
Take from me my pureness soft
To land my soul know best.