Don't you look at me? Don't you see that inside me are warm desires? But they're wrapped in a cold blanket. Don't you see that the snow is your touch, the fog your color, and the silence your voice?
Don't you see that? I can no longer hold on as I should, and although in my eyes is a love you cannot imagine and a flame of longing, I am completely collapsing.
In truth, I am now soft whispers and a torrent of faint, muffled calls fading slightly toward the sunset.
Don't you see that I dream of your blue eyes every night? Yet I tell you frankly and simply: In my quiet heart is a strange noise, a torrent of longing for you.