Nebbie
Luciano Pavarotti
Mists
I suffer, far away
The sleepy mists
Rise from the silence
Softly
High cawing, the crows
Trusting their black wings
Cross the moors
Gloomy
From the air to the raw bites
The sorrowful trunks
Offer, praying, their bare branches
I'm so cold!
I'm alone
In the gray sky pushed
A destined moan
Flies
And it keeps saying: Come
The valley is dark
Oh sad, oh unloved
Come! Come!
