Up there, in the ends of the West
Where the one-eyed god refuses to spare his shine
I've heard tell of wretched miners
Digging eagerly the souls of the broad-chested mother
They live underneath the surface of the earth
And hold rites for the sake of infernal among the gods
Stranger, better not draw near those lands
Otherwise you should be prepared for pernicious days
Of awe and dismay

We get into waters of Ocean, where Cimmerians lie
Enshrouded in mist and darkness
Which the rays of the sun never pierce
Neither joy nor light have they ever faced

For the poor wretches live in a long melancholy night
Brave men killed in battle with armor smirched with blood
All of them ghosts and wraiths, their screams never faint
Better servants upon the earth than kings among the dead
All of them ghosts and wraiths, their screams never faint
She is cleaving the waves as the north winds blow fair
According to the words of the cunning goddess
The one who entertained us with lust and craving
We're approaching the land renowned for its three rivers
While we're yearning after our home and its warmth
The oracle of the Theban prophet must be paid with boiling blood
Two black rams should be slain, this is the only way
Unhappy the one deprived of them long
The sense of loss is a heavy burden for a wounded soul

We get into waters of ocean, where Cimmerians lie
Enshrouded in mist and darkness
Which the rays of the sun never pierce
Neither joy nor light have they ever faced

For the poor wretches live in a long melancholy night
She is moving away from the fertile shore, as it was foretold
While we're yearning after our home and its warmth

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