It's been winter for two years now And I find in me unrest I know grass grows beneath the snow But nothing's showing for it yet I guess I thought The ice, the rot Would be by now A garden plot But it seems that I was wrong My head buried in your shoulder And you tell me I'm okay There's a stillness in the silence That I shouldn't wish away An empty tomb A chrysalis No shortage in terms Of images But will you make it come true? Will you make it true?