| In the dire obscurity of another dark February, there lowers a fog of
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| uncertainty
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| On a thin gasp of wind known only to me
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| My shivering sigh spreads a shadow far and wide
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| The frigid, leaden sky remains immobile, petrified
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| I attempt to seek out the source of this ancient curse by bad-tempered Gods
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| Of how the Moon keeps on its course without being stopped by the cries of dogs
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| Oh my love, I am freezing in my marble dressing gown
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| Cold, the oldest season, hold me when the sun goes down
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| As this hesitant haze, it deepens, under a blanket of doubt, I’ve been sleeping
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| Here, our deterioration begins
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| Where the tears that are wept are kept for safe-keeping
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| They say it will come to an end
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| Then all things will begin again
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| In this eggshell atmosphere, which is so very thin
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| 20 thousand million copper needles begin vibrating…
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| My frigidity has been eclipsed by the severity of my trembling lips
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| Although I locked my heart at dusk, I will open it again when the light comes in
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| Oh my love, I’m freezing in my marble dressing gown
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| Cold, the oldest season, hold me when the sun goes down |