When winter comes
I will look in the mirror and know myself again.
On fire with ideas, my books were burning.
My daughter came to me in dreams, a deer running,
a deer that had me flee to the mountains.
Well, I can hug those mountains,
see how they nestle in my arms?
There was nothing to be afraid of after all.
The scale of these things is just a matter of perspective,
and even when we fall, we rise up again,
the sea looks calmer,
the fluffy white dog is back on its lead.
So don't berate me,
don't blame me,
don't beat me up about it,
don't make me weep blood.
Count the passing years on your fingers,
they are galloping by like a wild, dark horse
and the only thing at the end of that path is winter.
When winter comes
we can go in one of two directions,
we can get lost
or we can find ourselves again.
I shouldn't have been frightened,
I should have said, why torture yourself?
So that those shadows melt away leaving just me in the mirror again.
