When the Christmas Baby Cries
Robin Wolaver / Jörgen Elofsson
Mountain pine weighed down so low
Branches bowed with silent snow
But underneath the glistening
The wordless wood is listening, listening, listening
For the frost will fly
When the Christmas baby cries
Beast that bristle with the cold
Huddle in the bitter blow
But while the blast is thundering
Their frozen souls are wondering, wondering, wondering
If this is the night
When the Christmas baby cries
For the frost will fly
When the Christmas baby cries
Wind comes creeping through the cracks
Flame blows from the candle wax
Yet there is faith for fragile man
A Child is born in Bethlehem, Bethlehem, Bethlehem
For our hope will rise
For our hope will rise
For our hope will rise
When the Christmas baby cries