On roads of ash through fields of sorrow,
Through years of joy and times of grief The pilgrim's
Heart is guided by longing, Ever wandering towards his home
In the end who is spared from leaving?
Despite his gold and all his grace?
Is a man not bound to go there?
Dark is the forest, where all roads end ...
Am I shield adorned with turquoise?
Am I a stone in a mosaique?
Am I as the mountains?
Or the wind or the sun or the rain?
Will my kin conquer or fade?
Will I ever walk this earth again?
Will they shroud me in fine robes?
Will my name be carved into memory's stone?
Will my scions remember my deeds and my name?
Walls rise cold and speechless in the plains as the winds of eternity
Rage Louder in the distance drums are
Calling – And the ghosts of my ancestors rise
Where I must tread – noone can follow,
Out in the plains it is dark and cold
The narrow path – and noone can join me
No golden tombs – our kingdom is not of this world
So silent the green forests of my homeland,
Where the dreams of my childhood once
Lived Louder, in the distance, drums are calling
Our days fall fast behind us with autumn in the east
The sobering holy water tastes so bitter on our lips
How can I find the way home, when winter rules the land?
When father sun has left me, what comes after the end?
Under tall oaks in fragrant orchards my footfall echoes,
When the tempests of spring cleanse the world
Louder – in the distance, drums are calling
Where the blood of my ancestors lies
Here on earth I think of those who came before me and of Him who
Walks behind the years At the gates I muse upon Generations to be as
The sound of drums draws near On roads of ash through
Fields of longing, through nights of wonder and oceans of grief
All from the golden days of childhood,
Life is the debt we all pay in death