âOh, you winter, you love of my life!â breathes the dark fellow into this cold morning. He then looks up at the sky and hears the dark sound of winter. A cello plays in the sea of u200bu200bfir trees, the piano believes it is no longer there. A gentle wind rustles through the woods and the dark fellow sings his most beautiful song. The angels wear mourning clothes and float in rows. Nobody envies the fellow's dark gift. He is the self-appointed judge who feasts on the slaughter. The dark fellow finally sits down on a rotten wooden bench in front of the Schober and ponders the immoderation of the ever-increasing snowfall. What kind of unbridled activity should I describe here? How excessive can winter be? What a beautiful irony of fate.
[Cello]
[THE DARK COMPANY:]
You angels, black and quiet, float to an icy bow.
Away from Winter's full white I will chase you forever.
You little angels, beautiful and cold, fly away, far away in ranks.
In the sea of u200bu200bfir trees, my bittersweet sadness (now) fades away Song.
[THE DARK COMPANY:]
Loves the splendor of winter. Listen to the sound of winter. The wind is harsh and cold. Feel the winter's flesh and urge.
[Cello]
[FOREST WOMAN, narrator:]
Driving, the wind keeps the blood still in all the hearts.
Perched comfortably in the pomp of the judges, close to his goal.
He groans eerily into the night and squeezes his eyes shut,
as if he urgently wanted to see little angels in their final rest.
[ FOREST WOMAN, narrator:]
Loves the splendor of winter. Listen to the sound of winter. The wind is harsh and cold. Feel the urge of winter.
[THE DARK COMPANY/FOREST WOMAN:]
You little angels, fly and fly, yes fly up to the star and night,
for cruelty and splendor give me grimness and power.
[THE DARK COMPANY/FOREST WOMAN:]
O winter, bitterly cold favor! I'm afraid of icy silence.
I groan eerily in the night and close my eyes...
[Piano/Cello]
[FOREST WOMAN, narrator:]
Loves the splendor of winter. Listen to the sound of winter. The wind is harsh and cold. Feels the urge of winter.

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