The winter is always longer in front of my door
That's because it's in the shadow and the sun is rarely there
I still slide upon the ice while the rest of the world
Sees spring without the snow, then I'm tossed into the summer
Without preparation or a song
Can you now understand why I'm hanging from this bench

The pain you sent to me by means of sorcery
Could not outrule my own, I still felt very forlorn
Until I saw your face so near that I could feel
Your breath's pressure strong as a heel
Kicked hard into a shin, that is the only pain
That's coming through to me and makes me feel alive

I see a bunch of roses fly, I make a deal with the sky
That I won't catch a single one, what is wrong with the world
I'll tell it from my soul, I won't fight anymore
Pleasant trips I took into the letters of a book
It spoke to me through thoughts, though I didn't believe a word
It left a mark I couldn't erase

Here is the one that turns hearts and stomachs into stones
A book that's read on a bench can make a difference if
You're the one that writes the last page in your mind
Spring makes half an entrance here, when hearts like stones begin to cry
Red bloody tears begin to appear
They make a wonderful ink for your own book

Judas steps forward, he shakes your hand
And tells you, you're the man what else could a man do
Then determine his fate and use whatever ways there are
To make it forward, then he tells you, you're alright
A bag of gold at his side, turns around and walks to the temple
You never see him again

Pale and lit is the night, flooded by moonlight
You said goodbye to the one who turns hearts and stomachs into stone
You can't quit laughing at the thought, that rocks is all you bought
And that they were former hearts, now resting on your shelves
As records, books and other junk
Here is another one to be put with them

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winter, book, stones, roses