Everyone has their own song here - Metsatöll

There is white vapor over the meadows
The misty bed of foam flowers
Everyone has a heartsong
It is different for everybody

I walk down the footpath with a pasque flower in my hand
I'm calling for the late songs to come home
And they come from the pine grove hill
The last one still floats in the fog

I guess my songs are known to all
The bellflowers that sling in the air
Because all of them were fed on this paddock
Only one frisky one has run away

There is white vapor over the meadows
I hold the withered pasque flower to my bosom
Everyone has their own song here
And I cannot find mine