Come the North wind and we will see,
All good things whar' meant to be.
Our bonds tighter and defined,
whittlin' out the justice kind.
Drawn by hate upon the gale,
Soul you sold for necklace shells,
balance like a scything blade,
sets upon the life you've made.
"All's forgiven!" Sing the strain,
wicking off survival's pains.
So in Grace present your needs,
to the Sacred Heart that bleeds.