I do not want to feel
the pig of winter's night
on my lonely cracked lips
concealed in a blanket of white

And I do not capture
the dreams in his head;
imprinted on a film
that can never be read

So when the bells from the churches
ring on the eve
and lights of the fairies
tickle the windows with breeze

I will cover the footprints
that I left in the snow
so when I can't be found
he has nowhere to go