Here in the middle of the field the last flower is growing
It’s the end of the summer and its life will ending soon.
All the long time cold winds are carrying leaves along
in the fog's dress the day is clad
and the mornings are already so cold
a white frost is silvering.

A white morning will bring the death to my flower,
under the cold veil it will be sunk into the last dream.
The solitary plain will remain, where the winds are sweeping along,
a gray morning transforming into a new day,
for my soul, a gray waste,
a sorrow and a pain.

Are you still alive, my dear old mother?
Your son’s alive, and is sending you the greetings.
Let in evenings above your hut
that peculiar light keeps on shining.

They write me they see you often
concerned very because of me
and that you appears on the road often
in your threadbare traditional coat.

In blue twilights that you’re all the time
racked by the same appearance
as somebody a Finnish knife
drives in my heart in a brawl.

Don’t worry! Calm down, dear!
From a conceit your heart is shivering.
I didn’t become such a drinker
to die before I see you.

As once, I am still tender
and my heart lives for one only dream
to escape the sooner from the trouble
and come back to our little home.

I will come when in our garden
branches full of blossom will spread.
But don’t wake me up in early mornings
as you used before the many years.

Do not wake up the dreamed-over dreams
let rests all what didn’t exist.
Too early I am tired of the life
and just a distress feel in myself.

And don’t teach me praying! Never mind it!
There’s no come back to former.
You are my only comfort,
the light shining with the same force.

Calm down, dear! Don’t let them
see you often so anxious
and don’t walk longer to the road
in your threadbare traditional coat.

It was just a war.
An ordinary war.
Like so many before.

Good people keep loving
beneath the sun.
Those who weren’t gone.

The evil men are hiding now
waiting for their new turn.
Will they never learn?

I hope their turn never comes,
neither their sons’
nor their guns’.

But a new war will come.
‘Cause our cries seem mute.
‘Cause to VIPs it’s suit.

As a bee has to fly.
As grass has to push its blade.
As a flower has to fade.

As a cycle has to be closed.
As the sun has to set
and everyone will see that

before the next blind night.

and a tide raises my pain
and a fury eclipses my brain
and then I begin to cry

I who’d never trample an ant
hate the beasts which made the war
or any ever war on the planet
preaching about an unavoidability
lifting their fists and shouting let’s go
standing safe behind mikes
standing on both of their legs

and a tide raises my pain
and a fury eclipses my brain
and then I wish to die

alone

and I’m flying in circles above the asleeping lake
and the moon is watching me silently
and my black shadow across the glossy water's gliding

and I’m leaving out the cry of woe and despair

‘cause in the white winter night to be alone
‘cause to be alone above the waters
‘cause to be alone beneath the stars

‘cause... to be alone...