Winter's Gate (Part III)

And yet it wrings me
Like a strange cold hand

And yet it burns me
Like a viper's tongue

Better it would be
To lie on bed of silt
And watch the moon's face
From under the waves

Better it would be
To rest on bed of mire
Inside the ocean's womb
Dreaming of days long gone

Sunless, starless, pathless is the way