In the dead of night, the crying wolves continue,
Beckoning for something to guide them through the frozen clime.
I feel nothing, my heart absent of all compassion, i leave the wolves to their moans of despair.
The wind howls and burns my eyes. I feel an absence of all that I hold dear.
200 miles until I reach my goal - gasping for breath, gasping for control.

My eyes are fixed on the terrestrial landscape.
Winter's moon calls me now, I await the season's change.

The arctic journey has plagued me and my frozen bones, now all I have is the lack of a soul.
I climb towards the midnight sun, dark fantasies repeating.
In the dead of night, the wolves begin to breathe.

So, this is hell?
Earth, I bid thee farewell.

I hear the call of the north wind.
I become enveloped in ecstasy.
Carrying its sounds through the gates of true utopia.

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