The Ice-Pit by Ideas
Both of my hands are grasping cold ice
I can't feel no more the warmth of the Sun
I can only see the magic dance of the polar lights,
Enjoying them for the very last time.
I'm crouching down in the snow,
I feel: just another world can be the way out,
I fly up from the Earth now,
And I'm setting out on the wings of the dusk...