Rigor Mortis

Cold and alone, in the vineyard he lies
Stained and all broken, the nightingale dies
Looking from your window, I can see the snow
Freezing cold
Cold and alone, in the vineyard he lies
Stained and all broken, the nightingale dies
Grinding to a halt on stone cold gravel
Freeze alone
Turning away from the wasted hours
Turning away from the wasted years