She runs, her cold feet caressing the grasss where she used to sit.
And on the edge a path leads to the West,
She knows it from long ago when the world was in its early days.
Timeless a song that vanished in dream,
As gold sand was made to torn to mud,
Flooded by rivers of pain and cold streams of hate.
She says let it go, there is no need to fight
When she used to sing Namariё
Floating to the edge, where a path leads to the west,
She was made to turn to dust,
Wounded by words of hate and the void that took hold of our souls.