Be things what they may.
Feelings what are they?
I lost them a long, long time ago and now I'm out.
I'm out of line and out of season.
Plant the seeds and quit believing.
Spring will breed and bring new life.
The tides will turn and take our side
Ice collects now in the same way, my doubts project right on my face.
I'm leaving now, remembering, I'll disappear in time for spring.
Why call it seasonal when I'm just depressed anyway?
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