Come close to me, my dear, the night’s becoming cold, the wind it screams, the trees they beg..all liars we are told. Huddle close, darling, outside there rages a sea, a land so drenched, so lost in torrents, no wanderer dare proceed. The fire’s kind, she cracks and purrs, her arms wrap us tight. In her eye a malevolent spark, she will take this night. The blackest coal, the warmest light, the trees now hugged by smoke. Still the sky cries, and the wood gives way, as the final trees do choke.