The world is burdened, with a wet blanket.
Every pine tree, to every small farm and large city covered in white.
I hear the cries of my soul in the swaying of the trees.
They scream at me, ‘every hero must fall’, this is a storm.
I will run from destiny, and the falling trees that make no noise.
The wind chases,
The world does not know my name but it knows the path I must take.
Does anyone see my cabin fever?
All I see is that axe in the corner and the pleas of my beloved ones.
Desperate, I fall to the caress of the cold earth.
It does not spare me; it does not grasp me with the warmth of its bosom,
Nay, she tells me the story, in a whisper I understand.
Tragedy is our fate.
With a howl, I embrace destiny, truth welcomes me home.
My soul is lost in fait.
The pain is cauterized by frost, with open eyes the snow turns red.