Winter Of My Life - Chris Farlowe, The Hill

The harden trees cry borning leaves and there day

The great north wind blows green upon their bail

And the pattern of frost on the pen

Form like pictures that dodge through my brain

Again… and again

The wind in the meadows turn to wicks

The fogs reaches further for his knell

And my hand reaches is out in the night

For the love which is gone with the light

Edge faded

As the cell often coats in a vice wraps the trees… For winter

The wind cuts this way… like a knife… to the holes In my clothes

And I wonder… what’s become… all my life

The swallows gone away until next year

The crow sings the only song I hear.

And the snow man is staring at me

Thank the lord his eyes cannot see

And his lips can never ask me

Why… I stand… alone… in the winter… of my life