When did our winter begin,
when did we get cold,
when did our dream freeze to death
and take hold of us?
When did the cold creep up on us,
when did we freeze stiff,
when did we become roses,
just flowers made of frost?
When did our course go
onto the scrapheap,
forgotten in the snow
like dreams made of ice?
Now summer comes,
we are free,
we let ourselves go
and cry.
Now summer comes,
the sun shines hot,
when we dissolve
like dreams made of ice,
like dreams made of ice.
I never understood,
how did this happen?
Why we were careless
and not disturbed,
as stillness locked us up
in its circle of power
and we only remained
as dreams made of ice?
Now it's summer,
the ice has melted,
we let ourselves go
and pay the price.