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 [bad word] 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...