• When oh when, the snows of Thrice fall
    The winds of winter blow
    In the cold town, thrice rings the call
    The toll of the bell we know

    The clock tower sounds throughout the streets
    Of an empty place called home
    All covered in powder, they are at least
    The place that I'm doomed to roam

    So in the coldness of Thrice
    I wander alone, seaching for the sign
    Of that which I've gotten after paying the price,
    The one who has said she's mine...