We Don't Get Much Snow Around Here, So We Make Frost Angels Instead

If you grow tired of breathing
So incredibly deep
You and your weary lungs can rest
In my lap as we look to the sky
And speak of what we know
What we don't know
What we wish we knew
And what we wish we'd never been told
Look now dear
The sun is almost done setting
Leaving a frost-bitten landscape
To rise on another lonely winter day
(Everything finds its conclusion you say, but I say nay)