Oh, how she calls to me!
My native land, land of highlanders,
and epics of bygone eras
Take me back to those accursed mountains,
and those flatlands where the farmers do produce their yield.

People say:
God's evil, or that He doesn't care,
but im contrary to them,
for everytime I pray, or when I cry, or when I call out to him,

He is there.
In the room.
Offering comfort in my soul and assuring me that everything's
going to be alright

He's the voice in the wilderness that says
'come this way to be sheltered from the storm'
I go gladly and I shelter myself
from my worries