This winter comes to my town,
              Trampling on souls with boots.
This winter comes to my street,
              Straitjacketing trees with ice.
The snow falls to the ground,
              Hiding all the right routes.
You should be dumb and invisible,
              Then everything will be nice.

In winter, when even icicles
              Look like rifle rounds,
When even the sun resembles
              A muzzle of devil’s gun.
The flocks of guardian angels
              Look like just low clouds.
With wings frozen to the sky,
              They cannot help anyone.