Fingers hook
Mittens warm them up
Young, naive love
Leading them along
There're better things
Than winter flings
Like throwing your heart on the ground
And tempting fate
To crush it dead
And when spring comes, pick it up again
Young little girls
And young little boys
Love is crashing
As petals burst forth with no noise
Gone are their jackets
Replaces with clothes that cannot protect
Their hearts are open for an imminent attack
Fingers break
Grasp no longer
Young, naive love
Falling apart for no one
