Beyond the shanty town of Midtendrift, where the moneylenders ply their trade among the aimless and avaristic, lie the ice prairies of Ensomfelt. The region is a barren wasteland whose boundaries are flanked to the west by the bottomless crevasse of Issorg and to the east by Lake Hjertestorm.
Those who come to wander this no-man’s-land may find that they disappear from the earth for a time - from themselves, and from the memory of others. Relying only on inspiration to guide them, they pass this way unseen, their weary feet making shallow graves in the freshly fallen snow.
The rocky outcrop at Engeldrøm marks the gateway to the in-countries. Nestled beneath the foothills of Mount Håp, this is the place to which souls lost to the world of ego and ambition return to take up their torch and remember.
During the long northern winter, the sky above Håp is an expanse of indigo ocean punctuated with an infinity of lamplights. Among these lanterns which float free of the earth, the North Star shines the brightest. It is here that you will find your journey’s end and a treasure trove of truth, forged in fire and sealed in ice.
Apologies for the bastardised Norwegian:
Midtendrift - Middle Drift
Ensomfelt - Lonely Field
Issorg - Ice Sorrow
Hjertestorm - Heart Storm
Engeldrøm - Angel Dream
Håp - Hope
I'm a ship without a captain
I sail wherever the wind takes me
I have seen troubled waters, but
I always feel powerless to turn
I'm a navigator without a compass
I don't know where my heading is
I cannot find the North Star, but
I don't need to in these doldrums
I'd rather remain here
Hear my wish!
O shooting star -
Bless me with an eternal tonight
So I can forever gaze at the stellar sky
lalalalala I wanna sing this
"No one loves a flower when it withers away"
He navigates on hope and will
With no sense of direction
Surviving only on memories and inspirations
In search of something more than destiny
Something more than storms and uncertainties
I am the map you navigate
Hate me. Why not take an arm off?
Maybe my arm's already gone and missing.
Maybe tonight's the night I won't
wake from sleeping.
Shame as pestilence incarnate
rakes my beating heart and brain.
Nails as sharp as shards of memory.
I ingest the scent of corpses in a
cold storage adorned with limbs and organs,
underneath the floor of that burned
out/burned in periphery beneath the rain.
Sprang up again, arose in sweat,
toward the toilet. Some things never change.
Will this never change?
Hard jobs **** up my night,
and I can't rest in day.
Hard jobs **** up my day,
and I can't rest through night,
but I cannot stay awake.
What came before comes now,
becomes the future, turning loops.
The present keeps pace steady, only to
slide the Earth below me to prove
Some things never change.
— The End —