The frozen ground breaks under my feet,
my cold pride burns in my heart
and old souls wander around here, under the glacier
like shadows of the past that died and live still.
They are the echoes of the mountains,
like sensitive summer flowers
on cold winter nights,
they wither, they wither and die.
They are the dead flowers of winter,
I lay frost roses on their path.
But the silence calls for my death
Did I come here to die?
Here until the sun is kold
and the wasteland endless,
here under the glacier
until the old souls wander,
here do I live
and here will I die.