They say the home is where the hearth is and fire heals the soul, but you've been trudging through the cold, you have been traveling through ice and snow. 'Cause time isn't an arrow, it's a dagger at your throat, and you are numb from head to toe, and all your blood has turned to stone. So come home to me, the fire's warm and I am making tea. The day has turned to night and all the snow has hardened into ice. Your boots are stained with slush, and the northern winds ain't letting up, and your best coat can't compete with an evening in good company. Frozen half to death, you need a hot meal and your bed, you need a blanket and some rest, you need a toddy and some buttered bread. You wear the mantle like an albatross and never take it off. You let yourself grow numb 'cause you're too proud to need someone. So come home to me, the fire's warm and I am making tea. The day has turned to night and all the snow has hardened into ice. The cold has got its claws in you. Oh, the weather she can be so cruel. But home is where the healing starts, so come in from the dark and find the hearth.
