When the turf is your tower And your pit is your bower On your throat and your skin The worms shall feed
Through the black hole That weighs down on my soul I feel no roots in this land In the ice and sand
If I must die Embrace death as my bride The long journey home To a place beyond the fog From golden halls we'll reign The slumbering king is no longer slain
No malice or hatred My fears dissapated We march heads held high Under the dark endless sky
Spirits are broken We still travel on Through life and through nature To where we belong
If I should die Far and beyond with faith and pride The long journey home We traverse the gates of fog To where we belong In chaos we shall reign The slumbering king is free from these chains
Lang HāmsīþTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
