at the edge of the century, in the mountains
forgotten by the people and time,
at the shadow of an old tree are standing
the spirits of the broken lives .
and beneath the bloody sunset,
his branches are floating in the wind,
down are staying the shadows of life
and the ancient tomb stones.
fallen from the world now they rest
there, lonely in their ashes,
only bodies that by day are talking to worms
and who by night gather the silence.
from their loneliness they shout to be heard
from the deep ,cold hole in the ground,
as the marble their souls are trapped by the years
and however ,they're still alive.
and the tree with his shadow, day after day,
is mourning in silence their words...
and life who's gone for such a long time
is listening how the wind sings.