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Shades of iron grey against a mustard sky
The world´s a weary corpse out leant
Through the thickening gas, some men are born to die
And some their country´s rage to vent

The heaviest burden that a soldier has to bear
The crushing weight of his defeat
To save an empire, men offer up their prayer
To strive, to fight, and not to yield

Adsit Anglis, Sanctus Georgius
The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt

Overwhelming odds too Englishmen are bait
Outnumbered, figures soldier on
But prayers of sout hearts are heard by noble dead
And soon begins the battlesong!

´Ye ghosts of England that lay grounded in the soil
Take your hope and look to the skies
And all old lions that once roared at Agincourt
I now command thee to arise!

Adis Anglais, Sanctus Georgius
The Phantom Bowmen of Agincourt

A raining tide of arrows born on spectral wings
Array, Array, Array, Array!
Falling from the sky was angel steel divine
To wash the enemy away

The noble German dead lay littered on the soul
And none to bar the soldiers´ path
But no mortal wound on these men could be found
Just Merry England´s hearty laugh!

Adsit Anlias, Sanctus Georgius
High chevalier - defend us all!

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