Heavy steps in the dark night ring out like a wake-up bell.
Saying it’s time to leave soon and wordlessly bid farewell.
Horses treading, treading - where our feet never fell.
Where they’ll carry their riders to - we can’t tell.

Our time dashes by - look for happiness like the past.
We chase it now madly, wildly, like fleeing deer.
But all that we lose in the chase are the friends who last,
And we forget as we career about, no friends are near.

And for so long in our madness we think these lights are flames,
And boots squeaking out on the path make us quake with fear.
The wars of the past are recalled in our children’s games,
And we’ll split people into friend and foe for many a year.

When the fire and the thunder and the teardrops cease at last,
When our horses fall weary, falter and finally slow.
Our young girls will wear dresses not the greatcoats of the past -
Yes, then we must not forget, nor forgive nor let it go!