Thous sanity is as cold as the winters snow, and lucidity is as vague as a cold winters day, for even the sun rises low and slow to offer no warmth as the winter winds blow For thoust Trumpets roar with no order, thy ensemble is a disheveled array of noise unto thee, for there be no grass to see, the trees lay bare as the sun offers no warmth to thee, for the winds are brisk and the air is sharp, winter has taken a bit of thee.