Winter Song by Nico. Most of the people I know, from Texas to Pennsylvania and beyond, are in a deep freeze. The period between New Years and spring is the hardest part of the year as far as I’m concerned. Even the great Hunter Thompson could not survive this season as he titled his suicide letter, “Football Season is Over.” I’ve never really taken to winter, either to its sports or its color scheme. However, there is a strange and dark poetry, a certain kind of magic, that winter can bestow, that I would be a fool to deny. This song, from Nico’s timeless Chelsea Girl album, is a prime example:
The snow on your eyelids that curtsy with age
Is freezing the stares on tyranny’s wings.
The bitter is hard and the warmth of your skin
Is diseased with familiar caresses.
Withdrawing from splendor and royal decay
Among all the triumphs and jaded awards
The angry and blazing circus of sun
Blasphemes as the crown prince arises.
You cannot beget all the sins that you owe
To the people of paradise magic
Pretend to answer passion and form
With foreign rationalizations.
Primroses are the jewels that lurk
Among masks of pleasure that flicker with doubt
Embraces of fame that’s simultaneously fear
To advance and demand to be recognized.
The river shall flow through hollow green faces
Of caricature’s resentment etched out of the tongues.
Both reluctant princess asleep before birth
The classical sensitive failures.
The worshipping wicked cling to the dark of your heart
Lying there and wait with your angels
Moan and ravish from dawn to dusk
The avaricious young lovers.