the cold, it burns my throat
the snow, it numbs my toes
the death I face will not erase
it's the ice that fills my veins

these woods I've called my home
the trees and I alone
no hope, no love that I can see
this will be the death of me

but stranger, is this gift for me?
it's foggy and I can barely see
your son and you stand with a coat and a key
my kind reply says that "I'd rather freeze"

he sat down his gift in the snow
faced his son and whispered words clearly and slow
"protect him with your life and with your pocket-knife"
I'll be back soon to rescue you both"

the stranger left into the wood
and the boy's arms wrapped me up quite good
with the coat he brought and the boy's own lot
he gave to me as much as he could

but child, it this gift for me?
it's freezing and my lungs can barely breathe
you've given all you can while in this cold you won't stand
I'm warmer now but your heart will surely cease

the man returned with carriage just behind
his lantern showed that I was sadly quite fine
but his son had grown so white
and I watched him die
the stranger knew and then began to cry

he grabbed us both and took us to his home
and buried his son, I heard each sob and groan
the man, he smiled, and said that I was his child
with grief he owned, he said that I was his own

but father, is this for me?
your son to die but I'm allowed to breathe
the love you've shown has risen and grown
let's go and fetch the lost to come home