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We seek the palace in the clouds. Yearn for the icy throne.

There we will reign with frozen hands – Build altars of our own.
In golden halls our name should sound – Great stories should be told
Of glistening splendor, battles won - The Saga of the cold.

We climb the steps up to the stars. Reach for their blinking rays.
Through fields of crumbling granite domes. We left the beatened ways.

And when the bleaking torch goes out
The lights fade in the mist.

The peak within the reach – The oath is done.
Our heads up in the clouds – The world is won.
The chain within our hearts – Broke by the frost.
Bones shattered in the gorge – To pay the cost.

No roses will grow on the graves
Ice flowers formed our wreaths.
A gaze sweeps through the misty shapes
For greater men to come.

And when the bleaking torch goes out
The lights fade in the mist.

There we will reign with frozen hands – Build altars of our own.
In golden halls our name should sound – Great stories should be told.

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