A white land sleeps in a dark winter's night
The northern light plays in a starry sky
Mere mortals can sense the great Æsir's might
Born from Ginnungagap, they never die

At the world's end, a green island was made
Made out of molten rock, of ice and snow
Steam rises from Múspellsheimr's hot gate
A collumn of water, where mountains glow

The humble humans herd their sheep and goats
Decendents of adventurous Vikings
Of those who saw this shore from their long boats
Heimdall's children of whom the völva sings

Though I never visited that island
I long for that mythical northern place
For its volcanoes, glaciers and black sand
And most of all its endlessly wide space