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When chimney smoke hangs still and low across the stubbled fields of snow And angry skies reach down and seize the sorry blackened bones of trees In the dead of winter when the silent snowbirds come You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum When dreary Christmas decorations line the streets and filling stations And dime store Santas can't disguise their empty hands and empty eyes In the dead of winter when the tinsel angels come You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum When gloves and boots and woolen parkas bring cold comfort to the heart and bitter memories freeze the tongue and songs of love are left unsung In the dead of winter when the cold feelings come You're my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum |
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