Текст (слова) песни: Gathering, The - On most surfaces (inuit)
The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me These are blurry winters and I cannot see
I walk into the white light of the snow When the sun comes I break it with my shadow Which tales me where I go
The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me
I am the snow falling down on you I tear up your face with my frost And make you run to somewhere warm When I come I see you get away I burst out about your emptiness
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