 
A breeze is tearing down the leaves of the trees 
(That are) falling asleep in the colors of Fall 
Again, I can hear that strange beat of the Earth 
That melancholy neigh and sorth of the nostrils 
The strokes of hoofs sound again over the land 
I can see them again galloping gracefully 
Their blowing white manes, a tender sharp horn on their brow 
Only a virgin could touch their grace 
And feel the touch of their eyelashes in her palm 
Just today, when I'm scrolling across the forest 
And that ancient touch is warming my palms 
Just today, I'm trying to find the traces of UNICORNS 
As if their traces were still warm 
But those paths have been overgrown with grass 
For a long time... 
