The trees they bow, they bow gentle and slow
As the moon illuminates the facing of primal fear
The air is cold, and no one will ever know

The redness of the eye can only serve to show
The sea upon the cheek what is no longer there,
But the trees will bow, they bow gentle and slow

In the dark of night and sting of hanging snow
The rope, it sways gently amongst the winter’s stare
The air is cold, and no one will ever know

The constricted vessels, that within veins flow,
Complement the ice covering skin so fair
The trees they bow, they bow gentle and slow

The night sky, these stars begin to clothe
Weigh heavy upon the rope in the chilling air
The air is cold, and no one will ever know

The leaves as they dance for the form draped in snow,
The eyes final sights in the face of primal fear
These trees finally bow, they bow gentle and slow
For the air is cold, and no one will ever know