A young man stands outside the house, he wears a long black trenchcoat, blue jeans, a simple black pullover sweater, black tennis shoes. He stands there and looks at the place, and feels as if he knows someone here. Does he, who knows, he stands there in the cold wind and white and cruel snow, Winter's grip still strong.
He stands with a face forlorn, his heart a heavy one, but why heavy? He looks arround, cigarette in mouth, and with his last drag of that cigarette, he tosses it into the snow and steps on it, he looks one last time, and walks off into the night, alone...always alone.
He stands with a face forlorn, his heart a heavy one, but why heavy? He looks arround, cigarette in mouth, and with his last drag of that cigarette, he tosses it into the snow and steps on it, he looks one last time, and walks off into the night, alone...always alone.