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Impotently at the end of an era we assist |
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As a last rampart we protect the ancient wisdom |
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Our valour multiply our blades |
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But this is not enough |
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Falsehood and treason have reduced our lines |
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And increased the ones of the enemy of the ancient gods |
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Their thirst of lands and power will bring death and destruction for centuries to come |
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The gods, offended by whom have blackened them, have forget us |
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As two terrible dragons battle arrays clash |
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One white as his prophet's livery, tint in nothingness and emptiness of his sentences |
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The other one red, as shame and rage for thousand years of eggression endured |
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Through sparks and flames, bloody rivers flood through the green plains |
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The schock is terrible and many sons of the earth lost their lives on the field |
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Brother they were, now full of hate infused by the priests of the god of the desert |
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For a supposed difference of belives |
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The white dragon dispers and disbound his enemies, divouring them with fierce |
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Without mercy, without honour! |
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And after our killing, they convert our sons with tortures |
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They fill our sons hearts with fear and suspect, hate and ignorance |
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Another era will have to pass over |
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But nothing is linear in the circle of time |
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The wyrd repeat himself and the forgotten forces will free themselves |
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Gathering our sacrifice! |
