And the snow in February falls, painting Winter hollow, And the fields they are an empty site, And the hills are like sorrow, And the hills are like sorrow.
And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall, And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall, And your moon will fall.
And I found the answer sitting there, with more than money In the tangle of your angel hair, in your lips like honey.
And we were born muddled, but it was meant to be, And we were born muddled, but it was meant to be, It was meant to be.
And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall, And our sun will rise again, and our moon will fall, And our moon will fall.
And the snow in February falls, painting Winter colours, And the landscape is an empty site...
(It was 74 F/ 23 C this past Saturday... this is from yesterday evening when a foot of snow and 30 mph winds had conspired to drop the wind chills to -20 F/ -29 C (?). lol, I'm not sure why I went out. it's cold... like really cold.)
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