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.



Course



Who then can warm my soul?

Who can quell my passion?

Out of these dreams - a boat.

I will sail home to you