To tell you the feeling, I’ll have to explain a lot,
Way passed the story-line, way passed the plot.
Not just a feeling, more than a thought.
A rush of cold air, not just despair.
Light-headed memories, leave me standing there.
A  rush of existence, a rush of the past.
You better move quick, you better move fast.
The memories come, the memories go.
But this feeling is old, as old as the snow,
a waiting widow.
To understand pain, to understand lust.
It starts with the feeling, it starts with the “trust”.
To understand the feeling, you must know.
It’s more than the frost, creeping up on the window.

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