Exile

Cold as the northern winds

in Decem - ber morn - ings,

Cold is the cry that rings

from this far distant shore.

Win - ter has come too late

too close be - side me.

How can I chase away

all these fears deep inside?

I'll wait the signs 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 o - cean.

My guide the morning star

as I sail home to you.

Who then can warm my soul?

Who can quell my pas - sion?

Out of these dreams - a boat

I will sail home to you.