Up above the outskirts of the northern light,

Past forests and mountains and out of men sight,

Where rude merchants greet me as windmills vanes wheel

I founded a home.

Of tears, sweat and blood curds was paved my path

I reached exhausted the door of a hut,

The voices inside told me "you're welcome man",

I called it home.

The monarchs, the vassals, the wise and the fool,

Debating of power and mattekar wool,

The noble behavior of a selected kin,

I sweared it home.

A sudden snowfalling by some arcane tool

The youngsters arriving and thinking it's cool

To yell at the elders, to seek easy comfort,

I welcome you home.

Now that grass is flattened in the village square,

As too many fight for their banderlings share,

The sourness has swallowed more than a soul;

Can I call it home?

This is not the homeland where once I was born,

But being Darktide a place from where is no return,

In spite of the threat to have my very head lopped,

I still call it home.