I walk amongst the trees but who is there to hear?
I whisper and let my voice rustle the leaves until their tremors cease.
Hoarse and weary, not heard, not seen, I wonder if I have ever been.
A Norwegian hillside, a Norwegian wood, I sing your song.
There is much talking but who is there ever to hear?
In life, I roar silently as people pass, unseeing.
Soundless, I mouth the words into a pit and disappear.
Emerging once again, I sing.
Norwegian wood, hear your song.