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 My guide as I sail home to you. Course Who then can warm my soul?
Who can quell my passion?
Out of these dreams I will sail home to you.
האתר פועל ברישיון אקו"ם
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