On the cold bridge of grey stones
Stood the old man in his grey robe
Opening his oak barrels
Pouring them to the river
So began the pouring
Light frozen
Down snowing
Light was weakening
Grey was the curtain
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On the cold bridge of grey stones
Stood the old man in his grey robe
Opening his oak barrels
Pouring them to the river
So began the pouring
Light frozen
Down snowing
Light was weakening
Grey was the curtain