It's morning and the sun is rising
Laughing from behind the clouds
He wakes up and looks in his hand
Finds the key
I know what ¤ I know
Hidden in the valley behind the bushes is
A golden ring dug into the ground
Among the roses
She is waiting for a picker
Which beauty does not carry this earth
She is waiting for a lover
From the tips of the wings to the tips of the fingers
Sleep is made for singing
It is evening and for the singing of the birds
A boat leaving the shore disappears
Fog covers and surrounds the earth
We are only created to dream
In the splendor of the trees, destiny is fulfilled
Pale lips meet each other
There ¤ is a ring dug into the ground
A land that forgets, is silent
She is waiting for a picker
Whose beauty this land does not bear
She is waiting for a lover
Who from the tips of the wings to the tips of the fingers
Sleep is made to sing
In the winter evenings in the big huts
The tail is dug in the middle of the branches
Which shone like a rose in the summer
The autumn disappeared in the wind
Old women with shivering memories
Drinking from the cup of strong life
For a moment with glowing embraces
Wondering what that girl vei
She was waiting for a retriever
Whose beauty this earth does not bear
She was waiting for a lover
Who from the tips of the wings to the tips of the fingers
The eye from nter to chest flame
Sleep is made to sing

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