This tree once spread its verdant wings
In sanctuary for our play,
The harbinger of youthful spring
With memories now frozen, splayed
In branches cracking to their core
Beneath a sky billowing grey
Like life, and winter, gone to war.
We wove those branches into art,
The tree that you and I adored,
But creeping ice has clutched its heart
And teaches us this eerie sound:
A child's house falling apart.
Where can the cold ruins be found?
Their shards will be my mournful throne,
And frosted leaves, my weeping crown.
In sanctuary for our play,
The harbinger of youthful spring
With memories now frozen, splayed
In branches cracking to their core
Beneath a sky billowing grey
Like life, and winter, gone to war.
We wove those branches into art,
The tree that you and I adored,
But creeping ice has clutched its heart
And teaches us this eerie sound:
A child's house falling apart.
Where can the cold ruins be found?
Their shards will be my mournful throne,
And frosted leaves, my weeping crown.