| LOST IN THE TUNDRA |
| The wind blows softly through the trees I take another turn, it all deceives I keep going even though I have no vision I can't think; what's my next decision? That cold icy is gonna clasp Once again it will grab me and make me gasp Trees drag out in front of me in hordes As I try to escape thier branches are like swords They hold me back wanting me to freeze They hold me even with their leaves... Even with their leaves...Yeah... |
| Nothing ever helps, I can't win Nothing ever helps, I'm so full of sin Everything tries to be controlling Evil is always patrolling Nothing is ever for sure I can't find a cure That cold icy hand will always strangle This sorry old self will always mangle... |
| Finally I'm released from the suction Yet that hand still has no reduction It tickles me to make me fumble It always tries to make me stumble I usually manage to chase it off But it always prevents me from reaching the top...Reaching that top... |
| Nothing ever helps, I can't win Nothing ever helps, I'm so full of sin Everything tries to be controlling Evil is always patrolling Nothing is ever for sure I can't find a cure That cold icy hand will always strangle This sorry old self will always mangle... |
| I'll always mangle, mangle, mangle myself... |
| Written by- Sandra Hedin Summer of 1998 |