Winter, Yet

Over exposed to a thousand winds twirling around us. 
They don't want to know who we are. 
Gone, summer skins. 
Blown, autumn leaves. 
To shattered lips on bodies made of fog. 
I see no spring for us. 
We open doors to ghosts populating our house, Winds singing your individual worth is indexed on your class. 
Deep gone in the coldest season, no snowdrops in sight. 
Her cigarette is hiding a pair of wet eyes. 
But Ma', they don't pay you enough. 
For the salt they harvest in your eyes and the nails in your bed, they don't pay you enough. 
You'll finally dance, under a gentle pale moon light I swear, insisting rains can never last. 
I wonder when green will find its way thru gloomy veils at last, I can't believe it's winter yet. 
May the heads roll to calm the winds, so burgeons colonize the trees. 
You're everything I want to fight for. 
It's winter yet. 
On all playgrounds, just thieves. 
For all victories, just dreams of eves. 
A coat of snow on remains of fall and down we fall, faster.  
We're crumbling down and they're asking for more. Always asking for more exhausting winds twirling around us. 
And simple demands still collect the dust. 
Six generations to flee from poverty, at least. Generations of workers tailored for billionaires' glee. 
Palaces of stone eventually crumble to dust and ours are made of bits, they're made of trust. 
I can't believe it's winter yet. 
And down they fall