With icy hands today I weave a shelter of versesDrops from the melting soul water the pageThe cold is locked in the pressing darkThey outdo the frost, the ice and the winter's bitter cold.
They race one another, the frost and the heavy windTo raise pain onto the pedestal of evil,They whistle the cold wind, weaving malice in the darkWith ice like a knife, they pierce and stab the righteous heart.
Heyyyyyy bitter cold, that knows no warm rays or light,The time of the sun will come again, to melt your knife!...
