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Exile
Enya
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Cold as the northern winds in December mornings' Cold is the cry that rings from this far distant shore. Winter hase too late' too close beside me. How can I chase away all these fears deep inside? I'll find a way. I will wait the time toe. I'll find a way home. My light shall be the moon' and my path - the ocean. My guide the morning star' as I sail home to you. I'll wait the signs toe. I'll wait the signs toe. I'll find a way. I will wait the time toe. I'll find a way home. Who then can warm my soul? Who can quell my passion? Out of these dreams - a boat I will sail home to you.
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