Hot Buttered Rum

When chimney smoke hangs still and low across the stubbled fields of snow
And angry skies reach down and seize the sorry blackened bones of trees
In the dead of winter when the silent snowbirds come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum
When dreary Christmas decorations line the streets and filling stations
And dime store Santas can’t disguise their empty hands and empty eyes
In the dead of winter when the tinsel angels come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum
When gloves and boots and woolen parkas bring cold comfort to the heart
And bitter memories freeze the tongue sounds of love are left unsung
In the dead of winter when the cold feelings come
You’re my sweet maple sugar, honey, hot buttered rum