| I can no longer hear you call 'cross the airwaves |
| Fog on the line has shaken my will not to yield |
| The one left here, my command all gone down |
| I’m caught, caught, where the cold dark fingers trace |
| Where the men who failed, they lie and kiss the dark earth’s face |
| I am lost, lost, by the storm clouds am tossed |
| Now here comes the snow deep |
| And I will take a sleep, sweet Margaret my dear |
| Tell me It was long and a strong and sweet year indeed |
| To get lost in |
| I’ve seen the survivors when they come home from the icefields |
| The lace and the ladies' flush and a pearl on the eye |
| Fine bone china and the log fire spark high |
| But I’m back in the wasteland low, where the ripe seed never gets blown |
| What chance I’ll see te sun on the lea, hear the cornfield moan |
| I am lost, lost, by the storm clouds am tossed |
| Now here comes the snow deep |
| And I will take sleep, sweet Margaret my dear |
| Tell me It was a long and a strong and a sweet year indeed |
| To get lost in No one to hear me when I cry |
| No one to hold me when I sigh |
| No one to watch me when I die |
| How will I live again |