The marketplace has nothing to sell
Left alone its awning's shiver
Wind whistles through the wood
Fish teeth snapping in a river
Peaks puncture the sky
Like a child's icy toes
Dipped in a stream
That a few of us know
And the clouds, just a ripple?
A shock from the impact?

Shadows on the streets
Look like veils at morning
Ice blots in the stone cracks
Where tears must have fallen
Oil by the bucket feeds flares to the heavens
Offerings of incense, small bills, and lemons
Drumbeats in the caves and hearbeats in the huts
Protectors unveiled for the first time in months

You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells
I'll turn the bells
You find some best friends
We'll hold each other
And I'll turn the bells
I'll turn the bells