Текст песни Смута - Сивер

Breath of the north, drizzle
Tears flowing in gray skies
Wet stones, cold to the ribs
Crawls into my chest through my clothes
From under a sprawling hunched spruce
I see the bed of a dead river
And as under the wind with a furious force
Slender rows of trees bend

Oh, yes you are my Siver - the North wind!
Son of gray waves and storm clouds
Wave the curls of the old forest
Thousand lakes of water alarm

From the banks of a dead bed
Rivers road leads us further
By the forest path, between the ancient pines,
Goes winding to the mountainside
The knitting of the seething cold waters,
Driven by the wind, they run from the steep
Putting your face under the prickly streams,
A gust of wind I smile