I have been riding where sand is whipping
In sunlight's punishing brutal force
We Ebodalo are shaped by gripping
Bow and arrow and mane of horse

For by the Silkroad, no life is sacred
For it is ridden by warring bands
Each tribe is hungry, each man is watchful
Each lung tormented by soot and sand

When our Ataland by the sea was taken
We wanted life where no ocean lied
The Gobi desert dwelled still, forsaken
The Hyperboreans thither flied

But still my mind and my heart doth wander
To good old Atland, and the Nordic air
Compеlling memories drives mе to ponder
Upon a voyage to take us there

"Alas, we dwell here.", the Hephtalite cried
In a world of danger and bitter toil
By sword and bow by the mountain's steep side
Whilst desert wind scourge the barren soil

One day our horses shall bear our brothers
And our sons to the Arctic night
With Hun and Crow folk and all the others
Who doth lament like the Hephtalite