(For the original Icelandic version of the song, view the page for it here on Genius!)

The night is ours
Spring in the wood of skies
We head to the heath with our tent, where the berries grow
Take me, dear friend to the mirth of yesterdays
Where our creek runs free and the birch will blow

Light in the mountains
Scent from our dearest fountains
The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow

The dew comes forth
Our valley is swept with peace
Our dreams come true, who sleep in the wood of skies
On the berry hearth, the last touch of sunlight dies
And the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow

Light in the mountains
Scent from our dearest fountains
The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow

Light in the mountains
Scent from our dearest fountains
The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow
The wind is counting your hair