When chimney smoke hangs still and low   across the stubbled fields of snow   And angry skies reach down and seize    the sorry blackened bones of trees   In the dead of winter when the silent snowbirds come   You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum      When dreary Christmas decorations    line the streets and filling stations   And dime store Santas can't disguise    their empty hands and empty eyes   In the dead of winter when the tinsel angels come   You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum      When gloves and boots and woolen parkas    bring cold comfort to the heart   and bitter memories freeze the tongue    and songs of love are left unsung   In the dead of winter when the cold feelings come   You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum