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Your arms dangling.
Loaded with snow.
Hanging down, down, down.
Over the road.
You are the black spruce.
You are the mighty pine.
You are maybe about to break.
Till a winter wind.
Builds up steam and comes dancing across the lake.
And I'll let you lie down in my mind and there you can be anything.
And I'll let you lie down in my mind and there you can be anything.
Your four walls.
And your bear claw door.
And your wood stove is hissing and it's spitting out all its embers across this hardwood floor.
Where a rocking chair sits by a window just staring out on the moor.
You are the four walls.
You are the bear claw door.
You are the wood stove you're hissing and spitting.
And I'll let you lie down in my mind and there you can be anything.
And I'll let you lie down in my mind and there you can be anything.