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Winter Has Gone (Longing for the Countryside)

Winter has gone among our mountains,
the flowers of the drift has melted away and died.
The sky smiles in the bright evenings of spring,
the sun kisses life in forest and lake.
 
Soon the summer is here in waves of purple,
gold plated, shifting in azur.
The meadows lay in the blazes of the day,
and in the grove the sources dance.
 
Yes, I am coming, say hi to happy winds,
out to the countryside, out to the birds.
How I love them, to birch and lime-trees,
lake and mountain, I want to see again.
 
See them still, as in the moments of my childhood,
follow the dance of the creek to a sea of clarity.
The song of the thrush in the groves of the pine woods,
the waterfowl's play around bay and island.
 

Freedom is the best thing

Freedom is the best thing
That can be sought after all over the world
If you can carry it rightfully
If you can carry it rightfully
 
The right for free opinions
Is something we have to protect
That goes for everyone in our country
Every single one
You just have to own
A printing press and premises
Or just a couple of millions
Then, then you're free
 
Freedom is the best thing
That can be sought after all over the world
If you can carry it rightfully
If you can carry it rightfully
 
Or think about the freedom to
Close down a company
That freedom goes for everyone
Without exceptions
[Everyone] That owns some factories
And banks and stock options
As long as you have a couple of millions
Then, then you're free
 
Freedom is the best thing
That can be sought after all over the world
If you can carry it rightfully
If you can carry it rightfully
 
And think about the enormous freedom
That goes into buying
Whatever pleases you
You can buy whatever you want
Cars, boats, airplanes
Houses on the Riviera
Champagne and caviar, everything
Is yours to buy if you want
 
Freedom is the best thing
That can be bought all over the world
If you can carry it rightfully
If you can carry it rightfully
 
Freedom is the best thing
That can be bought over the world
If you can carry it rightfully
If you carry it rightfully
 

The flowers of joy

The flowers of joy in the mould of earth
ah, surely never grow!
Love itself is indeed treacherous
for the quiet of your heart.
But up there, for hope and faith,
they bloom eternally fresh.
Don't you hear the spirits sweetly
whispering around them to the heart?