MELANCHOLY INZELL

When it rains in Inzell,
And the Rain gear crakle by,
And the crunch of the frozen rain on the ice,
Is the loudest sound we can hear,
The deepest soul of Inzell,
Is near.

Sometimes the rains in Inzell,
Fall for nigh a month,
And the sunny postcards we send home are a lie,
We've forgotten how the sun shines,
And the melancholy Inzell,
Is mine.

It takes the rains of Inzell,
For to a skater make,
And a racer bathed in the rains of Inzell,
Is a racer touched by the tears of the souls,
Of the Inzell and the Frilensee,
Of old.