The colder it gets
it’s sure to hypnotize;
sure to cover all of us
with dark, unflinching night.

When thoughts of the grave
churn and come alive,
don’t forget to quiet down
and hum yourself to sleep.

And then recall what you said,
“Beauty is what we receive
from the barren creek bed,
and branches that fall from the trees.”

When you awake,
while you’re lying there
with your windows frozen shut;
they’re hard (those dreams) to shake.

But we can take them and mix
in some violet where
there was only iron-grey.
And watch them flower into,

all the blushing of May;
naked and birthed in the rain.
And when the swelling allays,
be cast into soil again.

Lyrics submitted by floodlight

In a Field of White... song meanings
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