Nebbie

I suffer, far away
The sleepy mists
Rise from the silence
Softly

High cawing, the crows
Trusting their black wings
Cross the moors
Gloomy

From the air to the raw bites
The sorrowful trunks
Offer, praying, their bare branches
I'm so cold!

I'm alone
In the gray sky pushed
A destined moan
Flies

And it keeps saying: Come
The valley is dark
Oh sad, oh unloved
Come! Come!