segunda-feira, 27 de julho de 2026

Producing weather

 The ball of fire lifts up from the snow
It grows despite the cold
the snow on the pines falls
Thumb over the fire

But the fireball doesn't go out
It just reformed and burned still
That fire is my heart
the snow is melting

the heart beats the veins obey
The cold strangles but no effect
The land is quiet bandits hide
Waiting for gossip and their graves

My heart is the fireball
The frozen sky doesn't injure it
Infact as it burns I'll make it rain

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