The winter of emotions sometimes steals into my head It`s the tundra of the shutdown It`s the burying the dead And I`d like to make my springtime but I have no read recourse but to wait on some long loving from some deep and pure source
You lay me down You whisper somehow I can hear it when I`m very still You don`t ever touch me or chase away the chill but one day soon, you will
The art of all my problems is in how they`re resolved I try until I`m hopeless and then a hand so soft is brushing back my hair from its clinging to my face from crying God I live in such a weak and desperate place
(CHORUS)
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