Down the mountains, and the woods
talk me in whispers.
The leaves fall in this cold autumn.
Nature is strong and beautiful.
I am resting now.
The fog advances, surrounding this lake.
A cry of Iberus.
Where hordes hide behind the peaks.
The clouds gather the storm and rain.
Rain without more meaning than the Goddess
wisdom.
And Her voice immerses you in a dream of laments.
This is the eternal solstice which falls in tears.
Cantabria, the land of the Iabaro.
The forest where the clans rest before war.
This last autumn in the heart of men.

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