This beauty unfolds, before generations grow old
On that mist turns into mourns, to create this well known ancient lore

Until my dying day, winters dying day

And the mist separates the clouds from the grieving land
The trees, this landscape claiming the snow to forget the battles fought

You are the silent whisper, the silent voice calling to come in winter
For I grasped the key to this portal in front of me
Dimensions far from here, I seek

I'll find

To forget the battles fought

Until my dying day, winters dying day

This beauty unfolds, before generations grow old
On that day mists turns into mourns, to create this well known ancient lore