Dark Horse

On the shore of the lake In the great upstate of New York Came the call of a loon Cold, cold, o'er a plume of smoke He spoke to my center He spoke of the future He sang, "You, my friend, are alone, alone." We live with the cockroach And we split our cords of oak And keep this wood stove burning While the bitter winds are blowing We stow our words in the cellar So we never lose hope And keep this wood fire stoked While the bitter winds blow Alone on the land In the love of the dirt again There's a sharp, jagged winter At the center of my home Of my blood and bones That sleets and snows and makes me shiver But you, my heart, I will never know We live with the cockroach And we split our cords of oak And keep this wood stove burning While the bitter winds are blowing We stow our words in the cellar So we never lose hope And keep this wood fire stoked While the bitter winds blow