I’m pacing at the station
in this bleak high country town,
where straw bones of the mountains
are beaten battered down.
It’s cold here waiting on the platform.
Everyone’s gone home except me.
Crow calls lonely in the thin winter sun,
crying that my lover won’t come.
Sing crow in the wind.
Shine light down the line.
Take me out of the
shadows of my heart.
It’s cold here waiting on the platform.
Everyone’s gone home except me.
Crow calls lonely in the thin winter sun,
crying that my lover won’t come.
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