Summer came around early this year
And winter swung around soon after.
The scent of spring was high with fear,
The autumn crows call disaster.
Because the north wind blows so cold,
Chilling the warmth of my desire,
And the whispered words we know
Tell of a future burned with fire.
And the music that now fills the street,
Falls to the rhythm of marching feet.
I find no comfort here,
No not in this or any other year.
Because the north wind blows so cold,
Chilling the warmth of my desire,
And the whispered words we know,
Tell of a future burned with fire,
Tell of a future burned with fire.
The stranger asked me: «What do you know?
And just where are you going?»
I told the truth: «I just don't know.
If you don't mind, I'll keep on going.»
Because the north wind blows so cold,
Chilling the warmth of my desire,
And the whispered words we know,
Tell of a future burned with fire,
Tell of a future burned with fire.