On the second branch to the east,
Along the snowy tree,
A lonely sparrow rests.
It chirps languidly, Sings it softly,
And he despairs for himself.
Clear clouds come out of its beak.
The wind blows slowly,
Snow rises from the ground
Hitting the poor sparrow.
He chirps for help, flaps its wings,
But only a blackbird observes.
Black as pitch, it's ready,
He knows the sparrow will perish.
The sparrow beats hard,
He wants to live,
He knows he will have to suffer for this,
And lonely it rests next to the blackbird.
On the second branch to the east,
Along the snowy tree,
When the sun comes up,
The sparrow will say to the blackbird:
"Thanks for waking me up."
