from by Ides of Winter



~ This song is a gift for a dear friend of mine. I asked her to pick any work she wished from Edgar Allan Poe (A write we both share high regard for)
to influence this song. She chose "Morella". So I dedicate this darkly inspired re-telling of a classic to my friend Aimer and her baby daughter.

~ Caesar


A clear account, amidst the fragrant sounds, we met near an alder grove.
I saw reprieve, and her in me, Then the irons trolled for the newly blessed.
On cold nights by fireside she taught me arts and forbidden lore,
I came to know, her voice had slowed, I watched her inch away from heavens grace.

A small child she bore with the last breath that she spoke.
Through cross shadows we walked on the longest of days and tearfully kissed.

A gift. A child. From lost now re-made.
So why befall my with ill state?
When the flowers rained, we parted ways
and I placed her next to where her mother lay.

By a several thread I tried to hold on, But, What's the point when everything's gone?

The song of irons sing a horrid tune.
Twice now sung and now forever removed.
A fitting end to a fate I must deserve.
I may have laughed, but in truth I dissolved.
Not a single word on these stones I recalled.
Where flowers fell. my memories don't serve.

What was her name? What was her name? It's always the same.


from Minus Twenty°, released May 7, 2016



all rights reserved


Ides of Winter Edmonton, Alberta

contact / help

Contact Ides of Winter

Shipping and returns