The naked tree of winter seems
to stand so proud,
Lording the poor mortal as he goes.
And the tears which well beneath his sombre shroud,
Will they fall with the shame of somebody who knows
He can never be like the thought of a rose
Whose beauty remains even though the bloom goes?
"Oh, oh one more chance."
Oh is it too late to change
the way we're bound to go?
Is it too late? Then surely one of us must know.
(repeat last verse)