So I stand with these broken men,
Hearts gambled and lost to the absurd.
Why are we here? Where are we from? Where do we go?
Was it good or bad?
Should we wish to be born again?
Why do we wish it wasn't over?
The men have ceased to talk, we gibe and chat,
Someone breaks into a song,
We shovel along.
Beautiful winter, make us forget,
Bury us in the forgetful.
We run and squeal like demented witches,
"There is no craft like witchcraft."
Beautiful winter, why are you here?
Where are you from? Where do you go?
Forsaken in these old crooked bones
We revolt, give us youth or give us death.
Beautiful winter, don't desert us,
We are snow shovelers, pray thee don't go!