When the lonely wolf of winter
stands on the northern plains,
He howls a cold and hungry wail of woe.
I feel the isolation of the weary beast,
The howling of my own lamenting soul.
Must be the wolf of winter roams
the lonesome woods of time,
hunting for something he longs to know.
When wintertime extends its cold and
lonesome arm
I feel the wolf walk in the depth of snow.
I can not help the sadness that the winter
brings.
The hungry wolf is ever there to find
and though I try to keep the sadness well
at bay,
I hear his lonesome howling in my mind.