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Gazing at the landscape, after all you'll find my fellows |
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there, on the tranquil traces of my white, clear land. No need to fear |
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opening the gates to travel, it comes so nearly |
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to make you feel the glorious side |
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Feeling free, diving into times you'll never forget, hunger for |
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freedom, in the silence of wintery nights, spirits herald. The wind comes |
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The light looses significance, throughout the night |
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Owl singing the dead song inside the forest of dusk uncontrolled desire rising |
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from above the heart strength is near to haunt you |
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Coming to touch your soul. Heed to the harmonious song of wise owl. |
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All fear fading away. By hearing the hoarse cry. |
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Take a look as the mighty wind will bring the flood washing your pain |
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takes your sorrow to far away face of the old trees glorifying the land |
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Calls to spirits made before you time for joining with the long breeze of day |
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when the wind scars the bleached faces, of the snowy land, |
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cold scent of the wind, brings the truth from behind different sides. |
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Hear them calling for precious spirits to fly dreaming the truth |
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sets your soul free takes your body once breathing the death surrounds you |
