A:
The wind’s begun its whispering...

On winter’s edge where shadows creep
When the naive lay fast asleep...

When the north wind blows
And you button up your coat...

Wading out into the centre pool
Floating above the abyssal deep...

I feel like I’m cut open
It’s festering not closing...

I wanted to be wanted
I wanted to be loved, it’s true...

My lullabies were screams
To me they sounded sweet...

I was raised in a town of killers
But I didn’t see their blades...

Through the bottom of the glass I saw the spires
Burning up in the fire as the beast hit the door...

The fit is the scream of silence
As she floats high above the burning field...

The blue moon stood high above the trees
Casting a pallor onto the woods below...

Across the organisation
We know there will be losers...