The four winds still keep moaning
The song once heard at the birth
It is the chant for the northern sun
And for the seven stars of the Plough

Forged in the flames of the heavens
On the vault of winter skies
The ancient call for the snow
And the rune for the blazing ice

Pouring tears of the weeping maiden
Staining the dress of the virgin white
Leaves the deepest kind of yearning
In the chains of the northern lights

Like a moth in the darkness
Through the flare of the charm
And the first winter storm

Where the frozen leaves are falling
And the light gives up to shades
Sweet touch of the mother nature

Seals up all in rest
In the arms of the darkest season
Sleeps away the flame of the day
Joins the dance of December
The dance of descending winter veil