Take me to an ice-covered mountain
From where snowballs roll down
To a frozen lake below, like a set of
Marbles in the hand of a dead child.
Where the chill of the morning fog
Burns my skin, and freezes my tears
Like funny dew drops falling from
The roof sills down to a frigid earth.
There where no vultures stake out
And no bear lies in wait to ambush --
Just me and these little trinkets of pain
Rattling with the howling Siberian wind.
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