It doesn't get better with the next generation
I walk here with clumsy movements
Atop the Nordic country
Where the family tree stands strong
I hear it swishing, shedding
And the shell suits rustling
To be a twinkle in father's eye
Would be better
Than to stand on fields of melancholy
Where the silent nation stands
Staring at the sunset
Slowly turning into a state
In the name of father, son and moonshine
Everything is sworn here
Through the Ostrobothnia*
One at a time, everyone
Must give up their dreams
From the end of the rainbow
The empty chest is carried home
From snow to the grave
Tongue stuck to metal
Again and again
From the windows gaze eyes
With no homes
At other homeless
Searching for the sun, that
Behind some suburb
Is already lying dead, I assume