A Cold, Cold Wind


Many have gone,
And many have come.
Yet a cold wind whips through me,
Not even settled with rum.
And with nowhere to go,
Nowhere to turn.
I always go back,
Until that cold win burns.
And once it starts burning,
I always walk away,
And that leaves me happy,
But never for more than a day.
Because this cold, cold wind,
It follows me around,
I always hide from it,
Yet secretly want to be found.

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