All my life I knew
the things I need are few.
Just a place that I call home,
a shelter from a world of stone.
A lover free and wild
and the soft touch of my child.
Our four walls do give this to me
at least most of the time to be...
...but they hurt me like prison walls
everytime the north wind calls.
Am I crazy, what can I do?
A stupid thing to give in to...
But pain, it grows in every way,
the more I know I have to stay.
And drained of all action, still I lie
'till the north wind flies on by...
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