Exile

Stampa   |   Correggere

Cold is the northern winds in December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings from this far distant shore

winter has come too late too close beside me
How can I chase away all these fears deep inside?

I'll wait the signs to come I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come I'll find a way home

my light shall be the moon and my path -- the ocean
My guide the morning star as I sail home to you

I'll wait the signs to come I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come I'll find a way home

who then can warm my soul? who can quell my passion?
out of these dreams -- a boat I will sail home to you






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