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Mourning of mysterious feelings.
mourning of cold frost
beautifying the decline of the Night...
Mourning this time watching our march.
Sad are the birds hanging high
from the cloudy sky; weeping uncalmed,
victorious we will return.
Ridden on our bright eyed beasts,
eyes cleaned of all doubt.
I caress the fur of my horse;
calmed we will ride breathing
the mourning pure air of a new winter day.
A new day that will have to weep tears of blood.
Night of dark pleasures,
Night of harmonious mystery,
Night that eternally accompany us
and dye our souls with wisdom.
Shall the forest open itself for us...

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