On January 31, 1959, a 23 year old ski hiker named Igor Alekseyevich Dyatlov embarked on a journey to reach the peak of Otorten. A mountain in the Nothern Urals. The Soviet college student brought a team of eight experienced hikers from the Ural Polytechnical Insitute along with him for the adventure. Before he left, Dyatlov had told his sports club that he and his team would send them a telegram as soon as they arrived....

That never happened...

Lyrics: 

Stranger things have passed,
Mystery shrouded in myth.
Living for the thrill
but it’s too much to handle.

Cut my way out of this confinement.
Sounds follow my path with nothing beyond the white.
The vail has dropped and I run in the light.
My own home.

Seeking severance from the life.
A journey with love in our hearts.
Took a turn for the worse.

Fear drowns the drive,
the sky has been alive with the absence of life.
A dangerous sign.

The moon is racing faster than our legs can carry us.
Twilight foreboding. The cold isn’t the only reason for shelter.
Shadows creep around each pass,
Push forward, no regrets. 
Scaling the mountain, conquer the world.
They will remember us, but we will never know.

Seeking severance from the life.
A journey with love in our hearts.
Took a turn for the worse.

Petrified in the trees.
The unknown reaches out.
I hold my breath.
I close my eyes.
Run. Run. Run.

My eyes. My tongue.
Removed.
My bones crushed.
Beneath flesh unscathed.

Say goodbye to the ones I love
A kiss goodnight to warm them.
the cold is all I know.
It’s all I know now.

(IR)Relevant

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