The window was frosted, And in the furnace, the wood burned, He stayed in his warm homestead, And his stomach, it churned, He knew that the fire would run out, And that he would freeze to death, His fire had now become stout, And lost its final breath, The outside animals were blue like ice, As the warmth inside attracted mice, The wind blowed through softly, As he lost the last of his glee, The window was frosted, And in the furnace, the wood burned, He stayed in his warm homestead, And his stomach, it churned.