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The yawning hills fade in quivering twilight

I can hear the echo of an approaching train.

Haunting the valley.

Dancing across cold waters.

Distant home fires long burnt out,

As I drink between four wooden walls.

Filling my eyes with the mountain

through a single window.

The haunting echoes of my loved ones,

half a world away,

like fading whispers in the nordic wind.

In song:

Recant the days but do not recall,

the burnt autumn smells and the cold of the fall.

A piece of my heart in the north and one in the south

now listlessly wandering, bereft and without.

A wandering soul drifting through

this world aimless and alone,

in the best of company.

Husker du at vi var på fjellet?

Og månen var på kveldshimmelen,

Så hvit, i den svarte natten,

Og det var høst på Gaustatoppen,

Med venner og flammer,

Med solen bak åsene, (som) synker ned i avgrunnen

Nå drikker jeg i stillhet

(For brothers near and far. You are with me.)