Under the lopped trees goes
A damn long, narrow road
A straight road, which is
Covered with yellow leaves
By that road, I watch the birds
Which take away a part of me
When they rise to the sky
Flying there, where I can never go
I am the doer of hard work
I am the one talking alone
I carry the soil of a churchyard in my pockets,
Darkness on my shoulders
My wretched soul won't
Get away from the grip of the cold
My wretched soul won't
Get away from the grip of eternal ice
[Chorus:]
In night's arms, in winter villages
Sky blows cold air, ground freezes, hardens
Night gets longer in the feast of the dark!
Far away looms a gate
Mighty, lonely,
Hit by storms
Rusty, forged by the cold night
Behind the gate, the tree tops
Bathe in the sun
Ice drifts to the shore,
River runs free
[Chorus]