Winter’s Coming
Winter’s coming
The robbers have no remorse for robbing
Just like the killers have no regret for killing
When the winter departs in its annual ceremonial way
Of our land, the robbers and killers will stay
No matter how much we long, that delays the winter
Seasonal greetings are independent of us, we know for sure
Winter’s coming
The big, big bags—oh, no more it is overbearing
Just like the open fields are helpless to the dew
The bags will find a corner so new
Empty and useless, a master has always a master
And stay, stay until the next year comes
And now, the moment of now sings its anthems
Winter’s coming
And the fragrance of love’s diffusing
And the stinks of guns and bombs—their frivolities
In the great collision we are lost in the alleys
And nobody has the heart to block
And nobody has the brain to talk
Winter might be afraid of spring, maybe not
Winter’s coming
Adding one more year to the old bone
Just like those mountain rivers groan,
The pleasure’s all ours
And it’s written on the stars
But like always when the robbers and killers return
Ever it’s clear, the manifestation of cold heartburn.
The robbers have no remorse for robbing
Just like the killers have no regret for killing
When the winter departs in its annual ceremonial way
Of our land, the robbers and killers will stay
No matter how much we long, that delays the winter
Seasonal greetings are independent of us, we know for sure
Winter’s coming
The big, big bags—oh, no more it is overbearing
Just like the open fields are helpless to the dew
The bags will find a corner so new
Empty and useless, a master has always a master
And stay, stay until the next year comes
And now, the moment of now sings its anthems
Winter’s coming
And the fragrance of love’s diffusing
And the stinks of guns and bombs—their frivolities
In the great collision we are lost in the alleys
And nobody has the heart to block
And nobody has the brain to talk
Winter might be afraid of spring, maybe not
Winter’s coming
Adding one more year to the old bone
Just like those mountain rivers groan,
The pleasure’s all ours
And it’s written on the stars
But like always when the robbers and killers return
Ever it’s clear, the manifestation of cold heartburn.
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| Winter In The South by Emanoel Gugu Image from Public Domain Pictures |
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
—John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
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