The wind rolls down from frozen plains,
Snow paints the rooftops white again.
Mama hums a song by the windowpane,
Steam from the stove warms her hands.
The birch trees bend beneath the weight,
Of every word we failed to say.
The black earth sleeps beneath the frost,
And I still feel what I have lost.
Oh Northland, can you hear my name?
I’ m calling home through ice and flame.
The world moves on, but I remain,
Inside your snow, inside your rain.
Old friends laugh in winter bars,
The glass doors frozen, the streets are stars.
I walk alone where trains once cried,
Their echo haunts the northern sky.
The fields still shine with harvest dreams,
Though time has split the in- betweens.
The silence falls, the same old way,
And I still wait for spring to stay.
Oh Northland, can you hear my name?
I’ m calling home through ice and flame.
No matter where my footsteps fade,
The north still holds the life I made.
Through the storm, through the years I’ ve gone,
Still your wind keeps singing on.
Even when the world turns gray,
Your voice remains— it leads the way.
The wind rolls down from frozen plains,
Snow paints the rooftops white again.
And if the cold won’ t let me sleep,
I’ ll dream of you— my land so deep.