Idioma Origen:
Spring wont come, the need of strife
To struggle to be freed from hard ground
The evening mists that creep and crawl
Will drench in the dew and so drown
Im the green man
The green man
Sol in prime sweet summertime
Cast shadows of doubt on my face
A midday sun, its caustic hues
Refracting within the still lake
Autumn in her flaming dress
Of orange, brown, gold fallen leaves
My mistress of the frigid night
I worship pray to on my knees
Winters breath of filthy snow
Befrosted paths to the unknown
Have my lips turned true purple
Life is coming to an end
So says me, me wiccan friend
Nature coming full circle
Im the green man
The green man
Idioma Destino:
Spring wont come, the need of strife
To struggle to be freed from hard ground
The evening mists that creep and crawl
Will drench in the dew and so drown
Im the green man
The green man
Sol in prime sweet summertime
Cast shadows of doubt on my face
A midday sun, its caustic hues
Refracting within the still lake
Autumn in her flaming dress
Of orange, brown, gold fallen leaves
My mistress of the frigid night
I worship pray to on my knees
Winters breath of filthy snow
Befrosted paths to the unknown
Have my lips turned true purple
Life is coming to an end
So says me, me wiccan friend
Nature coming full circle
Im the green man
The green man