To whom do you turn To whom do you plead From mouths hunger impaired To whom do you turn To whom do you plead Frail words to freezing air How far do the cries carry When famine collects the kin High, mute as statues Piled are corpses thin Familiars forsaken Left in from of beast Old wise one perished To the tracks of deceased How long does one last Tearing wind in lungs At hope's closing gate Ill year still young How to silent the calls Of chill and shivers Through burial ground From the dark Beyond the river How to keep away Souls of the starved Weak are the marks On tall pines carved Come the end of second year ill Strangled with dread Weaker grew the wretched folk As mere graves were fed No crops bear fields wet Reign of fear, sacrilege Famished were all Apart from pestilence None survived Last winter None survived Last winter's siege