The place, I don’t know it, nothing happens, it’s hostile,
the trees dress with heavy snow,
the thin wind passes by horseback over forests,

somewhere further, there’s an old and bleak station,
in the back, there’s a pub where life is being drunk,
someone curses, gets up and threatens;

then there’s silence, or maybe the other ones don’t feel like it,
a train passes by the sordid windows,
in the dim light of the platform, there’s the betrayed woman.