The fear of letting go,

Of being left all alone,

Of finding the end

As empty as the road

It's a hireath made of gold

A wick, feared to burn

Feared to merely snuff out

Without dancing, a silhouette in captivated eyes

Pooling halos against black shadows

Wilting against black shadows

But leave the ashes for them to hold

Journey beneath the stone, to it's old abode

Leaving the imprints in the snow

Steps in the dance to the coronach of me

I will gladly return the corpse to the abyss

On the condition, you abandon all of me

Whilst the prints remain in the snow