En isande vind
far fram genom skog och dalars hem
Fryser ben och märg
Krossar drömmar, rövar dem.
Sov nu, lilla vännen min
Dröm ett litet sinnes drömmar
Vid elden stillhet råder
Här ditt folk vakar över dig.
Men i forna seders mull gror livets frö igen...
Hör nu vargen yla, kallar på sin sort
Inget svar i vinden ges
Hans släkte nu fördrivits bort.
Livets tråd nu tvinnas
Må din väv bli seg och stark
Ty hårda tider stundar
Livets rötter kämpar i frusen mark.
Men i forna seders mull gror livets frö igen...
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An ice cold wind
Blows through forests and home of valleys
Freezes bone and marrow
Crushes dreams, robs them.
Sleep now, my little friend
Dream the dreams of a small mind
It is quiet by the fire
Your people watch over you.
But in the soil of old customs the seed of life grows again...
Now hear the wolf howl calling its kind
There is no answer in the wind
His kin now driven away.
The thread of life is twined
May your weave be tough and strong
For hard times await
The roots of life struggle in frozen ground.
But in the soil of old customs the seed of life grows again...
