The cold draw flowers, his
black the November landscape.
Of life is hard to be too difficult to
I'm a lonely hermit in the heart.
Cast out from me all the love,
I turn off the happiness of sparking a fire of coals.
Christmas night per turn black, darkness
extended little by little.
fog the evening out of the greyness
over the darkness.
I see before me only the dark
of the tunnel, the received time
the employment office lady.
Life so difficult to comprehend,
November is now painting the landscape,
groundfrost depths of winter under the hide.
Mourning veils draw a mark on a tear,
Calculation of the top of a lonely heart.
It is under my feet cold country,
it sometimes fails, the hurt too much.
The night shadows creep into
the nightmares of the night,
I go against them,
word of the sword, a sharp
the demon nails now hit you.