En isande vind 
far fram genom skog och dalars hem 
Fryser ben och märg 
Krossar drömmar, rövar dem. 

Sov nu, lilla vännen min 
Dröm ett litet sinnes drömmar 
Vid elden stillhet råder 
Här ditt folk vakar över dig. 

Men i forna seders mull gror livets frö igen... 

Hör nu vargen yla, kallar på sin sort 
Inget svar i vinden ges 
Hans släkte nu fördrivits bort. 

Livets tråd nu tvinnas 
Må din väv bli seg och stark 
Ty hårda tider stundar 
Livets rötter kämpar i [bad word] mark. 

Men i forna seders mull gror livets frö igen...
------------------------------------------------------
An ice cold wind
Blows through forests and home of valleys
Freezes bone and marrow [bad word] dreams, robs them.

Sleep now, my little friend
Dream the dreams of a small mind
It is quiet by the fire
Your people watch over you.

But in the soil of old customs the seed of life grows again...

Now hear the wolf howl calling its kind
There is no answer in the wind
His kin now driven away.

The thread of life is twined
May your weave be tough and strong
For hard times await 
The roots of life [bad word] in frozen ground.

But in the soil of old customs the seed of life grows again...