It is the icy whispers of nostalgia
Hidden in the quiet rustle of dried leaves
That haunting voice still resounds and deaves
Coursing through your soul like leukaemia
It is the screech of a morning gale
Tearing your eyes up a cold sunny day
That suffocating bulge stuck in your airway
Not unlike the enormity of a whale
It is the constant blows of hail
Beating your melody down to a lament
As you're chained in a waltz with the torment
Succumbing to the mental assail
Though every word had a story to tell
Discard them away, like the rain that fell
For they are the autumn of your life
And the reason for your strife
