Nostalgia gripps my heart .
I will never see again
the great valley where I was born.
Wolves have no boundaries
except destiny ...
Grain of sand lost in the inexpressible
where the breath of the flute
is in unison with lament of the violin.
Journey through the wandering
of the living .
I am the people of the elusive dunes
contemplating the capricious dance
of the nebula .
The star of the dead watches over
the sleeping ridders who drink
the spring of eternity .
Shadows of heroes lurk ,
that the horses recognize and greet .
We are children of the relentless gallop ,
who dream of the roses of Esfahan .
Our story is to pursue this horizon
calling us at sunset over the great ocean..
Path, only made of long memory
in scorching seasons and brisk wind
that warms the blood ...
Bride of silence ,you have put
on your wedding garments .
The lute tells us the legends
of the ancients ...
Tomorrow ,only ambers of the camp
will remain .
abandonned to the chaotic order
of the dunes .
Inummerable faces whose language
speaks to us .
Bringing us ever closer
to the last departure .
where the steppe ends ,there is the way...