Mercy

If I was called the winter
You'd be called the trees
Brushing away at the snow on the eaves
Searching the sun for the warmth on the road
Three months of grey and then
Three months to grow

A black and white picture
All romance deceased
A beautiful cold that stole light from the street
I care for your warmth but I care like the wind
Who's blowing you further then caving you in

If I was called the convent
You'd be called the cross
You'd carry all the weight and you'd carry all the loss
I'd be set by the stone all woven in stairs
Columns for my teeth and gold strips for my hair

If I was called the ocean
Sending in the waves
Crashing then calming then filling the stage
A call to the captain; he'd run then he'd row
But mercy given now still means eternity alone