With your campfires alight,
And yet dying with the wintery night.
Ever since the dreadful date
That determined Anatou's cold, cruel fate.
Memories of her parents' grace
Return now to this wicked place.
Why, Inuit Village, did you hate her so,
That you broke her heart and bruised her soul?
Many nights the tales are told
Of Anatou, once brave and bold.
But those old tales we must obliterate,
To acquire a more abundant hate.
And yet this, my friend, shall not work,
For our numerous obligations we cannot shirk.
So let us get on with our self-serving lives,
And bear the heavy, lonely, and burdening sighs.
Even though, with every rising dawn,
Comes the realization that Anatou is gone.