Israfel
Elle Boude
As winter descends on the forest so cold
The forest breathes deep and lets out a sigh
Creaking and groaning like the one that is old
The forest strains to hold up the sky
Where once a creek flowed
Now there is glass
Mirroring skeletons of trees and dead grass
And bright colored leaves imprisoned by the frost
Float down from the sky and soon become lost
It was here that I found a path of hard ground
That held the light like a fog as a strolled
And that light it weighed down my coat to the ground
A dream that was held in the palm of your hand
Has split like a tear and frozen the land
What used to be certain
What used to hold fast Seems to split, to tear
And can never last
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