When We Used To Love Winter

This is sickening
Life like a dead set
Bead on the line,
Drawing back
To a pale face
And firing
With closed eyes.
The arrow flies
So swiftly into
A mans painted pride
That's framed like
The portrait
Of a stranger in a suit.

The mark
We don't remember
When we used
To love winter,
Like the creature
That devours its young;
We are faithless,
Faithless father
And living evil nature.