There is a ghost that knocks at my window. She only comes if it snows. I could tell you something about her When she’s here, but I know not where She goes.
And it’s high tide On the ocean side. It’s wind Wind and rain Through the great Great plains. It’s ice, Ice and snow Outside My window Where Mary waits For me to come home.
Would I rather live in California? Where they tax you for the sun. And the people they all looking mighty fancy, And the fires they come to set you running.
Chorus
I could be the lonely captain. I could be heaven’s host. I could stand awake through the darkness, Awaiting you, December’s ghost.