Winterreise A Journey into Winter


The will-o’-the-wisp, there, lures me
Deep into the rocky abyss;
How I might get out again –
That will be hit or miss,

For I’m used to walk at random,
All roads have their end;
Our sorrows and our happiness
On whims of chance depend.

I’ll follow the dry river bed
Wending its way below;
All rivers end up in the sea,
And in the grave, our woe.