He rolls through the frozen lane.
The iron wheels cut through the grain.
The sky is a heavy slate.
He arrives at the garden gate.
White trees standing in a row.
Burying the world in snow.
Wait for the winter to break.
Watching for the ice to shake.
He stops by the apple tree.
The ghost of the fruit is free.
The wind hits the metal frame.
The winter forgets its name.
He breathes in the biting air.
A sudden and steady stare.
The branches are brittle glass.
He watches the evening pass.
White trees standing in a row.
Burying the world in snow.
Wait for the winter to break.
Watching for the ice to shake.
One light in a distant room.
Cutting through the velvet gloom.
He doesn't move from the spot.
Tying a heavy mental knot.
He turns the pedal to the west.
The racing heart finds a rest.
The orchard is locked in sleep.
A promise he has to keep.
White trees standing in a row.
Burying the world in snow.
Wait for the winter to break.
Watching for the ice to shake.
Silver orchard, cold and white.
Silver orchard, hold the light.
Hold the light.
Hold the light.
