Yeah

Take a pistol from the back door
and touch me like you mean it
the skies are raining ashes
You better believe it

The winters withering away and the sun comes out dishelved and new with unopened eyes like a pug's new born kin.
and its tired eyes feast upon the white ground eating it up
and spitting it back out
its cold and hot
the water is lean and crisp touching ever inch of every surface leaving it's trail wherever it goes
mimicing what i thought to be a great scenery
crunchy leaves turn soggy like cereal in a bowl
not so tasty anymore
golden leaves and golden watches
white snow white skin
let me in
let me in

i didn't understand celcius but now i do
i think its about negative 2
in farenheit is that 20 or so...?
the water isn't salty anymore
the footprints in the snow are fresh
they are all fresh