- - -
The cold scape. I see You over there. You just think. If You will move, the distant black cloud will sing and then it will fall down, so we can see the mountains, that are looking at the dark skies. These mountains will be the sign of our union, for three or for thousand years. And then I will give You Your new name. Mínkjarloð. I know You hear me. Open Your eyes. Don't sleep for too long. Here I am, waiting for You to rip those roots.