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