I crave the touch of friendly hands.
My bitter soul is searching for
The warmth of love in frozen lands.
The wind bites though me as I search
The tundra of this lonely life.
I crave the touch of friendly hands.
I huddle to the fire and think
No sun-scorched desert could replace
The warmth of love in frozen lands.
Like the robin with fractured eggs,
Or the hound who howls for his man,
I crave the touch of friendly hands.
Frost cracks open my naked face.
I wish a long embrace would give
The warmth of love in frozen lands.
There is nothing […]