the morning I die
the clocks won't stop
the traffic lights
will wink on in the streets
and the skies
gonna rain
drop by drop
when i do the last of my breathings

 when I die
bury me on the top of the white hill
'cause I'd like to see the [bad word] by(2)

the morning I die
the coldest of the year
the northern winds
will keep spinning around
and the trees will swing
the snowflakes sting
but I know
I'll get warm in the ground

when I die
bury me on the top of the white hill
'cause I'd like to see the [bad word] by(2)