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
