It might be God or just whatever, but this night smells of incenseThe tall wood all around, mosses on the knollPerhaps this iis a blessing or an ambush on our senceA good feeling to the touch, but such a chill through the soulThere they go with their icons, with their icons so unknownTheir path is lit by holy light from the water so deepI don't remember how we got up, how we walked out of the roomII just remember how warm a it is that we seekLook at that Cathedral with its darkness under domeAll eyes have searched there and all have seen but naughtI would like to place a candelBut they're sold right out of candelsI'd light some liquor in my hand, but where can it be got?And the snows lie all around on all four sides of usBarefoot through the snow: no problem if your soul is pureWe would have dissapeared for goodBut for the wolvesand the ravensThey asked us wherewe're going, to that start so warm for sure ?Gilded all the crosses and stuck them in wheneverThe one cross truly given was traded for some wineAnd hungoverin the morning, went for water to the riverAnd there instead of water it's the Mongol Post we found.We had wanted to give a sign so joyous to the angelsBut lost them from our sight erasing tracks of where we wereEveryone would go out now and follow their signalsIf it were not for teh light of that star so pureWhat can we do now, how to sing if not for the hand so pureAnd if were do not sing we will burn up all aloneBut if I sing only a part the Orliki will come to meAlong the murky water with their eyes as white as a stoneLet them come all the same, I'm such a black bird myselfThere's nowhere left to run, a meter - then the ice for sureI'll cover you, you'll cover me, oh wolves and ravensSo that somebody at least will make it to that start so pureSo what do we care now, if there's darkness under domeSo what do we care now, if we cannot see but naughtAnd what do we care noe if thre're sold right out of candelsBecause if there is no fire, we know where it can be soughtAnd maybe it is true that there's no path but his travelled oneThere may be no hands for miracles, but those so clean and sureYet all the same we warmed only by the wolves annd ravensAnd they blessed us all the way to that star so pure