| Snow is falling in lightning flash | |
| In the morning we wake to thunder blasts | |
| It's so mild the dogs march in, | |
| deflating circles till the sun breaks in | |
| I lost my journal but I'm certain that | |
| a thief is after my most secret past | |
| To broadcast in twilight my buzzing mind | |
| Creates this nonsense turns my neglect into crime | |
| My mother tries to keep the pace | |
| with rush hour ladies who aren't afraid | |
| to shoot their arrows at the good name | |
| she built with cannons and subtle grace | |
| Listen now to these sounds | |
| All I have oh these sounds | |
| Mother shoot those cannons off, | |
| destroy this wicked place | |
| The winter brings peculiar things | |
| to thaw and leave no trace |
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