Screeching as it races by, leaving a howling sonic boom,
The wind freezes my hand, burning it with an hatred of life.
An eviscerater of living flesh, acid claws melt the warmth from my
Hands, my body, melting into my soul.
Ever more viscous my will becomes, creating rhythms of sluggish thought.
One last thin, weak grasp at warmth,
My heart apathetically makes the attempt,
As I dream of the final eternal blissful sleep
With my True Bride in her gown
Of Pure White Snow.