ŞARKI SÖZÜ
Awaken in the silent night.
Alone, inland hysteria.
I am a stranger in this land.
Here I kneel before you.
Oh, solemn glory.
Standing together on the hill.
Nothing is spoken, but understood.
Below, a procession of wooden men.
Swinging their tree trunks in the wind.
The white birches are alive, they are marching.
