Where the plains of the heathens meets waves of an inland see, lies a town. A town named for the son of Krim. Not Livare, the soulless, but His second son.
Majahi Hamare Majahi!
In the name of Yoham they built a tower of pure silver. There it stands tall on the shores, shining ever gray!
Hail that monk ancién!
He who danced with death!
Yoham!
You have grown old!Ayem Ayem Ohm!
From the eastern wanderer Ville, wild and wailing, we have this song, which may well bring us to the silver tower and tragic monk:
Pray for Livare
Pray at Hamare
Pray at that Temple to TruthWalk for Livare
Walk by the seashore
Walk through the fieldsSing for Livare
Sing for each fracture
Sing for that broken soul
Targu Mures Historical Society 