Here beside me,under endless howling winds
   my dying race is wandering homewards,
   led by an old man to shores.that don't exist,
   just emptiness remains...
   on and on goes our march gruesome as the
   light of sun,cold as winds that hide in me
   hour after hour,day after day my lullaby is
   turning and falls gently on this sleeping land
   like a hawk trembling of hunger and like a
   burning source...
   two years have passed and still my race is
   wandering through foreign shores...
   homewards....
   My soul is now formed as a knife forwards
   the heart of your heaven.
   And so I die...
   Still my folk keeps on marching...
   homewards...