On an icy island in north, in the woods beside the church   We can bury crimson lockets filled with dirt   And when the April thaw brings us out again   We can bless the arrows   And the sun won't stall, and the land will never fall      On virgin fields we'll skate, stand by children we'll create   Like the arctic wind we spin a windmill's rose into the threshing soul   You can't thresh the snow when the snow is sending   There's no divine grove, you can see the blankets go      Everything I did was right, everything I said was wrong   Now, I'm waiting for the night to bring the dawn   Into the only room where the fire's warm   Where we keep our vices warm and it's all that's left   All that's left is vices torn