On Most Surfaces (inuit) — The Gathering

The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me These are blurry winters and I cannot see

I walk into the white light of the snow When the sun comes I break it with my shadow Which tales me where I go

The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me

I am the snow falling down on you I tear up your face with my frost And make you run to somewhere warm When I come I see you get away I burst out about your emptiness