We came, we saw, we lost our minds and went back home. Back into the snow and we swore that we'd never leave this vale, grew pale and died of this comforting violence. The warmth of this song is only a cold, cold comfort. Imagine being buried on a day like this. The humming earth, like an old chant to your ears. Your fears, your grief, just sweep away into the warmth of these songs. And we are hauling our heavy feet through the snow. Oh, so severe. Oh morning, my mourning. We grew to love the way it hurts, it's our favourite thrill. When all skin is cold, winter's resting. When all skin is shed, winter's resting near.