I can smell the nostalgia in the air

It smells like home

Like crocuses and green, little shoots that shoot up

Up from the ground only to be crushed by his foot

The heavy foot of Mr. Snowfall that just won't

Let up his grip on those poor, little, green shoots

They're still young and fight to maintain their roots

The roots of home

They were planted by the door and lived for the sunshine

But as the gusts of winter came, they let loose new seeds

Seeds that would try and make it next time

They didn't have their momma to nurture and care

They didn't know they rose too early, that winter's still here

Because the sun lies high in the sky

And lies about the warmth of days past by

Looks are always deceiving

And the little, green shoots sit on their heels and wait

For the hills to live with the sound of music and fate

The fate of spring to come at last

And little, green shoots to forget the winter past