Of Ded Moroz

The bottle is dry, but you’re still wet,
One hundred years, you haven’t said,
A word or two, to make it right, you’re sleeping in your pale white,
You’ve got no legs, cause you haven’t moved, you haven’t arms to pull you through,
To drink it down, and clear the way, you’ve got no throat to say it straight
And so it goes away,
And so it goes away,
And life could be apart from me,
And so it goes away
Changing tones like the autumn leaves, but you’re colored more like bluish grief,
And father frost might do you well, to sit you down and cast a spell,
The creatures rouse to sing replies, to the rhythmic mole and rooster cries,
So crack your eyes, get out of bed, I’d hate to see you freeze to death
And so it goes away,
And so it goes away,
And life could apart from me,
And so it goes away