Spoken into the mourning clouds that descend  the earth,

Thousand of whispered secrets grace the air,

Of sins and lies that couldn't be admitted by the hearth.

It dances in the air,

Much like whence the devils birthed.

The veil, an illusion of comfort,

A shield against inquisitive eyes and throttling minds,

A haze of serenity,

Given to you lavishly all with a price of cold kisses against your skin.

Speak to the heavy mist,

Offer it your fears and lies,

To baptize yourself and relish its welcoming cold,

And let it remind of you memories long forgotten,

Dancing like the dust particles in the cold.

Store away your soul in that misty purse,

Sunshine was all but a curse.