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1
[The tale about destiny]
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In depths of mysterious moors,
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Where rags of fog were wed with rain
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Dazing smell of mysterious herbs
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Tickle the wistful nares.
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It hide's deep there...
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Then I've set out to the very center
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Inward the world of Talmalion
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Difficult way stayed in for me
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I became the pilgrim of Eons.
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Lonely and lonely
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I've wondered and sought,
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Forgotten by all, but strong
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Relentlessly I've headed to the end
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To the home of all mystic ages.
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The storytellers from the depth of unknown come,
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their flutes and pipes made of human bones sounds,
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ballads of blood and Death enchant me,
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in their claws drifting me further and further,
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with no chance to return and I hear,
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I hear a calling of graves.
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