Where does the wind blow If not to the heart? Where did the man go If not to home's hearth? What does he do then, where does he sleep? What journey has he made And secrets doth keep? Behold the fire of dawn The trembling of morning When the ashes of night From sky come falling. In the black does he mourn? Is his stregth still forming? Or has prison's blight Skewered his longing? Though great is the burden 'Pon shoulders so weary You are our warden We miss you dearly.
Where does the wind blow
If not to the heart?
Where did the man go
If not to home's hearth?
What does he do then,
where does he sleep?
What journey has he made
And secrets doth keep?
Behold the fire of dawn
The trembling of morning
When the ashes of night
From sky come falling.
In the black does he mourn?
Is his stregth still forming?
Or has prison's blight
Skewered his longing?
Though great is the burden
'Pon shoulders so weary
You are our warden
We miss you dearly.
Šupa songa.