Distant figures Eight or nine out on the ice Drawing nearer Ghostly thin and deathly white Not a glimmer In their gaunt and haunted eyes Dead men walking or spirits What choice have we but to retreat and to hide And wait inside and hope they'll go Yet hear their footsteps in the snow Come louder, louder, loud and close Then a braver Man than I stepped out to find Wraith-like creatures Cold of skin and dead of mind Food we offered Would not eat and would not trade Would not speak a word On their grim death march into the waste So we made an igloo for them all to sleep And left for them three seals to eat And silently, silently fled when night came Seasons came and went We returned one day to search Objects we had left In our haste to flee the curse Why had they arrived? Would their coming spell our doom? Captured in the ice We found that the igloo we built had provided their tomb And they had left the seals alone But they had feasted on their own With human teeth marks on human bone What line divides survival and sin? What point does life depart and death creep in? What line between a man and a beast? Starving in the land on which we feast Starving in the land on which we feast