Returning back to all that is familiar, in all the most eerie ways,
It is snowing, but it’s not cold,
It is cloudy, without a cloud in the sky,
Raining from the sky,
Drops shattering on the pavement, then blowing into the wind,
Up in smoke,
Like something out of a Fitzgerald novel, the valley of ashes stirs, and then is silent,
Up in smoke.