This house roofed with snownBrings my mood up from a lownThis still dark place still stir things up withinnJust to stand here and listen elevates a grinnnI pound my hands through the snownRed small marks from every blownIt stings, I don't like it, I'd rather be insidenMy devotion always fades away after a whilennI hear many things due to my sensesnThey're sharp, too sharp, I don't hear anything goodnMostly my heart, the beating of a clocknI lay down in the snow then I roll overnBut as the Air is getting coldernI head back home in the pace of my heartnnWish I could get one whole day without myntimekeeping heart