If I was called the winter You'd be called the trees Brushing away at the snow on the eaves Searching the sun for the warmth on the road Three months of grey and then Three months to grow A black and white picture All romance deceased A beautiful cold that stole light from the street I care for your warmth but I care like the wind Who's blowing you further then caving you in If I was called the convent You'd be called the cross You'd carry all the weight and you'd carry all the loss I'd be set by the stone all woven in stairs Columns for my teeth and gold strips for my hair If I was called the ocean Sending in the waves Crashing then calming then filling the stage A call to the captain; he'd run then he'd row But mercy given now still means eternity alone