Where you been to?
Where you been to?
Said the cold, cold covered ground
Natures growing
Without my knowing
I'd like to be somebody else
I'd like to be somebody else

And still my love for you it grows
And still my love for you it grows

Those holy prophets
With empty pockets
Only visible to you
Their silver bow strings
Play songs of old kings
And they play in the light of the moon
Hear them play in the light of the moon

And still my love for you it grows
And still my love for you it grows

Songs are chosen
And often broken
Try to put it together again
But winters lonely
And someone told me
That the fames gonna get to your head
That the fame's gonna get to your head

And still my love for you it grows
And still my love for you it grows