(2)

NEXT
BACK
IF UPON THIS WINTERS LAND.
SNOW SHOULD FALL UPON MY HAND.
THE FRESHNESS OF THE NORTH WIND BLOW.
SENDING SHIVERS DOWN MY BACKBONE SO.
THE MIST THAT RISES FROM THE SEA.
STARTS TO CREEP UP TOWARDS ME.
I STAND UPON A MOUNTAIN HIGH.
AS IF NEARLY IN THE SKY.
LOOKING DOWN ACROSS THE GLEN.
THE MIST NOW CREEPING OVER THEM.
THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO GO .
IT'S BLOODY COLD UP YEAR YOU KNOW.
THE END