I think of a god they call December

Cold and distant to its fame

Winter in the plains

Massacre to the crowd

Forget its name

Riddle the valleys with despair

Oh December, bitter and cruel just the same

I think of a god they call December

A distant joke from spring

A forgotten lover

Abandoned by its believers

Altars left empty

Doors broken by the cold

I am thinking of a god they call December

Cold and distant to its realm

Bitter and vain

Oh, praise to its name

In this dark and dreary game