It was Christmas eve, 

bread and porridge was our meal, 

it wasn't a feast, 

but we loved the way it made us feel.

The snow was knee deep, 

our hearts were warm, 

three people over a bonfire could easily make it through a storm. 

Our love was thick, 

the red was deeper than blood, 

even though our beds were made of rocks

and our floor was hardened mud. 

We were rich, 

even though we gave away everything we had, 

this was what my father taught me about happiness,

this was his ballad.