I raise my hands to the sun that shines in my face through the branches of oak I call the words long forgotten and feel the power of earth flowing into me In this sacred place I'm not alone anymore I hear the wood - spirits' voices My memories slowly wake up from the sleep And I know - nothing's forgotten And then ahead of me at the sunset an old man appears from the oak as hypnotized I bend my head before him The wood-spirits whisper me - it's the krive of krives The forefathers' wisest wizard and loreman he's gone long ago, yet still alive "I am the spirit of this oak-tree, never try to brandish your axe here, I'll teach you enlighten your mind, if you lay open your heart. From the earth you have come, my son, not from the heaven. So, return to your mother - may your part be your sword and the ploughshare, And be aware - nothing's forgotten!"