Cold as the northern winds
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 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.
I'll wait the signs to come.
Who then can warm my soul?
Who can quell my passion?
Out of these dreams - a boat
I will sail home to you.
