| When he was riding through the old Romanian town, | |
| Heading to the East, he had to stop 'till dawn... | |
| He had to stop' till dawn... | |
| Late it was, he took water from a well, | |
| Glittering and cold, water quenched his thirst... | |
| But, that old well was dry... | |
| And the moon was shining bright, | |
| Scattered sparkles rounded the well, | |
| Sound of a distant flute he heard, | |
| His horse ran away... | |
| Suddenly, some children all in white | |
| Made a ring around him, whispering: | |
| He, who drinks the water from the well, | |
| Falls into her embrace, tells the tale... | |
| As the eyes are windows to the soul, | |
| Through his gaze she'll know it all... | |
| No one ever heard a word of him, | |
| Some tale says his soul still lingers thirsty... | |
| And if you're riding | |
| Through some old Romanian town on your road to East, | |
| You should never stop before the dawn... | |
| Never stop before the dawn... |
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