[A brief commentary of Juraj Grezdo: "Here I used a lot of metaphors and comparisons, but the lyric describe the meaningless devastation of our natural wealth, the Tatras, interventions in their natural course in general Where is the simple clear virginity of the Tatras being here before the centuries? The lyric says: "Trees cry in my arms, dry, with no splendour, delight has forever gone"]

Wicked clouds over my head
They are greedy as the pressure of time
A life-potion has spilt, all is dead
Like a light of the immense eternity
Embracing my last will, blood is my bread

My words are the pictures
The pictures of my sorrow
Floating in the raptures
Incessant raptures that I follow

My muse is so huge, but not serene
As the haze in the ancient woods
As the grangeur of the Tatras
As the endless sidereal time
Penetrating through my mind
And the loveliness of pleasure I can't find

I hold the key to the enigmatic gate
As I pass through my life to dream
To discover the secret clutches of fate
And listen to the silent waterstream

Trees cry in my arms
Dry with no splendour
Delight has forever gone
Bloody dawn torn by the thunder

I am element of neverending light
But I am also the element of the night
I fan the fires burning all the happiness
I am a herald of sorrow and wretchedness