On the shore of the lake
In the great upstate of New York
Came the call of a loon
Cold, cold, o'er a plume of smoke
He spoke of the future
He sang: You, my friend, are alone, alone
We live with the cockroach
And we split our cords of oak
And keep this wood stove burning
While the bitter winds are blowing
We stow our words in the cellar
So we never lose hope
And keep this wood fire stoked
While the bitter winds blow
Alone on the land
In the love of the dirt again
There's a sharp, jagged winter
At the center of my home
Of my blood and bones
That sleets and snows and makes me shiver
But you, my heart, I will never know
We live with the cockroach
And we split our cords of oak
And keep this wood stove burning
While the bitter winds are blowing
We stow our words in the cellar
So we never lose hope
And keep this wood fire stoked
While the bitter winds blow