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I can't recall that the summer came this year before the fall,

leafs didn't grow on trees, grass wasn't green.

No life signs to be found, it's like a soundscape of silence,

a soundscape of silence.

The final harvest has begun,

with bare hands we sowed the fields of ice.

Last crop that died on the ground,

into the frozen soil I bury myself to be reborn.

I can't recall that the summer came this

year before the fall to the land of thousand

frozen lakes where the endless winter without

sun will bury us like a snowfall.