Exile 

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Cold as the northern winds

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in Decem - ber morn - ings,

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Cold is the cry that rings

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from this far distant shore.

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Win - ter has come too late

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too close be - side me.

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How can I chase away

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all these fears deep inside?

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I'll wait the signs to come.

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I'll find a way

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I will wait the time to come.

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I'll find a way home.

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My light shall be the moon

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and my path - the o - cean.

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My guide the morning star

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as I sail home to you.

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Who then can warm my soul?

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Who can quell my pas - sion?

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Out of these dreams - a boat

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I will sail home to you.