All dreams lay dying at the hands of the sword,
Crafted in the fires of confusion and haste; set and stagnated in the cool waters of weakness.
All dreams, they lay in pieces on the floor,
Destroyed by the violence of winds from the south; fuelled by unease and restlessness.
Promises made and broken.
All dreams lay dying in the brutal winter frost;
A heart frozen and shattered in shards of disbelief;
Reeling, bending, breaking at the seams.
For love is made of truth, hope and trust, and with your sword, your winds, your frost, you have broken it.