Exile

Cold as the northern winds, in December mornings. Cold is the cry that rings, from this far distant shove.Winter has come too late. Too close beside me. How can I chase away all these fears deep inside.Course: I'll wait the singns 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.Who then can warm my soul? Who can quell my passion? Out of these dreams - a boat. I will sail home to you