gone, but your haunting, sensitive songs endure.

winter winds they do blow cold,
the time of year, is chosen.
now the frost and fire,
and now the sea is frozen.

he who sleeps he does not see
the coming of the seasons,
the filling of a dream
without a time to reason.

when he walks through evil
o'er the paths of broken illusions,
carefully now he lives,
for he has mended her confusion.