In the cold, we find our fire,
Under the moon's unyielding eye.
We gather in the dark of night,
With candles lit, we'll fight the light.
No electricity, no screens,
Just voices raised, just faces seen.
We huddle close, we pass the jug,
Of cider warm, of stories rough.
The wind outside, it howls and bites,
But in this house, it has no rights.
We laugh, we cry, we share our dreams,
In the warmth of winter's steam.
The walls are thick with years of sound,
Of love and loss, of joy profound.
Each crack a story, each nail a song,
Of lives entwined, of love that's long.
We dance beneath the hanging bulbs,
Of paper stars, of whispered mumbles.
Our feet kick up the dusty floor,
Of stories old, of moments more.
When dawn breaks through the darkened pane,
We'll part with hugs, with promises to remain.
For though we're scattered, we're not alone,
In this cold world, we're our own home.
In the cold, we find our fire,
In the dark, we find the light.
We're the DIY, the riot grrrl,
In the winter's grip, we'll hold on tight.
-- CINDER
"diy doesn't mean disorganized."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin:
telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)