Координаты текста
ENОригинальный текст
Перевод пока недоступен. Показан оригинальный текст.
Our little house is just drooping over
The land and the light and the windows
And for the fog the circle shaped moon glows
Through the wilderness fantastically echo
The voices of grave robbers
And the other worry wanderers
Their breath is steam
They wiggle cold fingers
When we curl our toes
Blankets (hung) over our door
