Your scarf may protect you from the cold,
but this winter devoured my home,
my isolated soul imprisoned by its ice,
and we sang.

You may notice me at the crossroads,
but I have not got any directions to continue to,
and all the roads are dangerously frozen now,
and we sang.

The sun may rise just when you start hoping it would,
but I can feel its burning,
and the fires spread from house to house,
and we sang.

My home has been gone for long,
so if you still have one of your own,
hold on to it well, my friend...
(or will we be hearing your voice too?)