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.