In a dead of a winter's night, you flew away in the mist;
Vanished from his eyes, which were tracing you behind the clouds.
Now, from then on he is always standing there, staring at the sky;
May it’ll be ashamed of seizing you,
Knowing not its not on.
You are too far away to come back, there is no way back there, of coarse.
He shed tears and yet hope you’ll be back again.
By the nightingale’s chanting, he stopped staring; Knowing you’ll never be back again.