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In Japan, people say that Wintergata is a river.
A river that flows over dark, deep and evening.
A river of stars out there.
A river that glimpses over the earth where we walk.
A river that glimpses over the earth where we walk.
From the very source where life drank from, the river goes and goes.
With this river you meet once in a quarter of a year.

And the girl is weaving, and the boy is eating wheat.
Then you turn around so the stars go up in flames.
And the fire burns inside you and rages on.
About young, soft bodies where you make good nonsense.
Where you make good nonsense.

And perhaps we could also find drops, stones and river
And perhaps there once we lifted up a night
Then you woven a weave, and the weave you came with to me
And the loggia scoured themselves up and whirred wildly to the road
And the animals I looked for, they were led to you
And perhaps we could also find drops, stones and river
And perhaps there once we lifted up a night
And perhaps theiós are the rivers that flowed
And perhaps theòn beyond will never approach
Perhaps I shall find loggias to walk upon and the genial land ofmore
And passes the ice between our stops without cover theyistä
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.