They always come to me in tears.
I needn't fold their sleeves
To see the scars.
They always come to me held tight
With rubber bands,
Locked behind bars.

In my house it is always winter,
And there is a wall.
In my hearth there is always fire
For an errant soul.

And every path in the forest leads to my door.
And every path in the forest leads to my door.

They come to me with fears,
Reduced to flesh
And blood, and bone.
They come at night
Without a word
They always come alone.

In my house it is always winter,
But still it's always warm.
And there's a rock so firm
To outmatch any storm.

And every path in the forest leads to my door.
And every path in the forest leads to my door.

They always come when all is lost.
I tend to wounds
And mend what's torn.
They wait until
I tie back all the pieces
And then they're gone by the first light of morn.

In my house it is always winter,
Cold crawls from every bone,
And I am a wall to lean on,
But I am not made of stone.