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It's beautiful outside, an old hand gathers wood, |
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Can he see me sitting here? his mind is somewhere else. |
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His friend have flown away, he's left out in the cold. |
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He won't sit by my fire, he says he likes it in the snow. |
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Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow. |
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It's getting dark outside, the old hand's going home, |
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Has he someone waiting there? or is he living on his own? |
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Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow... |
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White blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didn't see, |
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Oh white blanket covers the memory |
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Of all that used to be. all that used to be. |
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But his heart keeps aching in the same old way, |
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He can't help feeling that she might come back someday. |
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It's beautiful outside, a magpie looks for food. |
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The old hand throws a crumb, |
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Do you think he's found a friend? |
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Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow... |
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White blanket, hiding the traces of paths he didn't take |
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Oh white blanket covers the memory |
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Of moves he didn't make |
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Oh white blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didn't see |
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Snow white blanket simply covers the memory |
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Of all that used to be. |
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But his heart keeps aching in the same old way |
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He can't help feeling that she might come back someday. |
