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 