Frozen soil cracks beneath my feets,
my cold pride burns in my heart
and ancient spirits wander around here beneath the glacier
like shadows of a past that died, but lives on though.
They are the echoes of the mountains,
like fragile summerflowers
on a cold winternight
they wither, they wither and die.

They are the winters dead summerflowers.
On their grave I layed frostroses.
But the silence annonunces my death.
Did I come here to die?

Here, where the sun is cold
and the desert is endless.
Here beneath the glacier
where ancient spirits wander.
Here is my home
and here I want to die.