The wind cuts sharp like a knife in the dark,
The sky is gray, there's no flame, no spark.
The pines stand still, whispering woes,
In the land of chill, where coldness grows.
Every season drags, heaviness clings,
In Maine's cruel grasp, the winter sings.
Living in Maine, where the sun hides away,
Chained by the frost, in the shadows we stay.
Longing for warmth, but it never arrives,
In this bitter place, oh, how we survive.
The roads are rough, cracked asphalt cries,
Beneath the burden of clouds that lie.
Dwellers here fight against endless gloom,
In a state that feels like a cold, dark tomb.
Hope flickers dim, like a flame in a storm,
Trapped in this cycle, is it too late to transform?
Living in Maine, where the sun hides away,
Chained by the frost, in the shadows we stay.
Longing for warmth, but it never arrives,
In this bitter place, oh, how we survive.
In Maine we struggle, we push through the pain,
But deep down inside, we long to break free from the chain.
