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In autumn

when winds curse and moan from the North

I can see the Pole Star glowing

It blinks like an astray watching eye

which once had to transmit a message

Under a waning moon

I saw the city for the first time

The city of deadly pale marble

which was called Olathoe by the humans

I know my proposition here

In the tower I got to be on guard

so that the Inutos may never cross the pass

But the gruesome, pallid Pole Star

lulls me in, makes me sleepy

as it stares through the tower's window

I scream in despair

because I'm dreaming this dream again

like in so many nights

of a house of stone and tile

in the South of a gloomy swamp and a cemetary

on a flat hill

and the shadows in my dreams are whispering to me

that the country Lomar does only exist in my imaginations

and that there, where the Pole Star stands high

and red Aldebaran creeps slowly over the horizon

has for thousands of years been nothing

than snow and ice...