there is no comfort in the coldness
	indifference of years
there is no pleasure in the snow
	perfection of white
there is no reality in the memory
	silent film lying
there is no friendship in deceit
	deeds withhold

there is no use in tears
it slipped away, so slight
there is no art in dying
life as cold

this is the year I was
then - that time is now
I watched you leave me
forever incomplete
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