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

and songs 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