| Never had been so cruelly cold and long a winter
|
| Over the glaring white mountains
|
| By night you hear the wolves howl
|
| Hungry, desperate souls
|
| Dying a bitter winter death
|
| Moonlight in his eye
|
| A haggard wolf as furtive as a ghost
|
| His narrow shadow glinting in the whiteness
|
| He turns his head into the wind
|
| Picks up the trail
|
| He’s on the prowl with glassy eyes
|
| He never sleeps, bargain for live
|
| Take a look around, can’t you see the wind, the hills, the snow
|
| They’re yours; |
| they’re his as well as mine
|
| Most precious gift in desperate times
|
| A haggard man with tired steps and a loaded gun
|
| Waiting in the glaring white mountains
|
| By night he hears the wolves howl
|
| Hungry, desperate souls
|
| Dying a bitter winter death
|
| Moonlight in his eye
|
| A sudden move in densely copse
|
| The bottom line
|
| A sounding shot, a tortured cry
|
| And fleeing gaits lost in the night
|
| Take a look around, can’t you see the wind, the hills, the snow
|
| They’re yours; |
| they’re his as well as mine
|
| Most precious gift in desperate times
|
| On and on he stumbles through the woods
|
| Warm blood trickles down, down, down
|
| Step by step, the hunter’s there
|
| But he couldn’t see the brightness of the moon
|
| As he ends his work
|
| Take a look around, can’t you see the wind, the hills, the snow
|
| They’re yours; |
| they’re his as well as mine
|
| Most precious gift in desperate times |