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I heard it from the coldest gale |
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perpetually the kingdoms fail |
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I tried to smile on this rebirth |
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Oh purile sons of mother earth |
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Shining pikes on a foggy brae |
|
the morning dew waits to shroud |
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each tear in their bloody eyes |
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when the foe of the land dies |
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Clarion pipes, proudly marching men |
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thousands hum to the battle drum |
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(Forward! For the king and the crown!) |
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A legend for each men who falls to the ground |
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for each standing one a low lullaby |
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desperation wields the sword, under a gonfalon of fear |
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a glimpse of glorious days shine in a widowed tear |
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I've been called to fight for my royalty |
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for my king at his right hand |
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be a matter to my country |
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I spill my blood out on this land |
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And if I should die in this battle |
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it's a noble thing I do |
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And if I should be a hero |
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then I will return to you |
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The grace gave me my kingdom |
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my only royalty |
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now to raise my sword against |
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a lord to protect my family |
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So I'll fight for them tomorrow |
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march in the name of Tara |
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to see their children - parished |
|
by an enthralled soldiers sword |
