Verse 1

I packed the papers tight against the rain

One name to carry, one road with no return

Ust-Iansk on the cover, north wind in my coat

A quiet kind of promise I was learning how to hold

Chorus

We made a home from what the hard years left

With open hands and a little breath

Now every road runs forward, every door swings wide

I found my people, I found my life

Verse 2

A year went by; the house went up in flame

Ash on the boards, but we were not the same

Twelve years in Ust-Iansk, through the thaw and snow

I found a wife, heard small feet start to grow

Chorus

We made a home from what the hard years left