Father,
But she could never call you that.

These words have burned inside of her
For far too long
Dear Father gone

Do you remember
The little girl
That you once held?

You'd sing to her.

Oh how you must have grown so tired
Of her red and weeping eyes
Her eyes have certainly grown tired
Of sheading tears for you

Do you remeber
The colours you gave them?
They're yours,
Exact replicas.

Though you share your eyes and blood
Her heart
My heart

Will never belong to you.

.'.Winter.'.