Live alone in the woods, a hand done cabin made good.
Water piped from a brook, hand carved bowls in a nook.
Winter is off to the right, cold creeps in the night, but I'll be alright.
When it storms and the wind shakes the trees,
the rain pounding on the roof,
The Kettle is hot with fresh tea, I'll huddle here in darkness,
listening to the sounds, the sounds, the sounds of the world.
Morning comes to the glen, Fresh brewed coffee and toasted bread.
Heading out in the green, fish pole hanging and a string.
Taking the road to the right, the trail leads to a sparkling sight. And I'll be alright