| Exile |
Exile Cold is the nothern wind 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 shell 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 worm my soul?Who can quell my passion? Out of the dreams-a boat.I will sail home to you. |