Tell tale winds blow through the heart

and springwater carries it right from the start

for bones it has washed and ground into dust

and purified metal now covered in rust.

The wind rushes over the toys of the past

the present will mark when it's blowing so fast

the future it brings to the scent of new leaves

from dawntime it blows, 'till deep dark in the eaves.

And far in the night, past the animal sounds

the watchmen asleep on his pointless black rounds

will wake to the touch of darkest of breath

the cold wind is calling in life and in death.