Ooooh, the forest speaks in stone,
Where moss and mist reclaim the throne.
The ancient trees, with roots so wide,
Hold whispers from the other side.

Ooooh, the winds weave spells of old,
Through birch and pine in winters cold.
The raven flies with knowing eyes,
As runes are carved beneath the skies.

Ooooh, the northern lights arise,
A flicker of gods in frozen skies.
Among the shadows, wild and free,
The forest hums its mystery.