Shades of the dead,
Have i not heard of your voices
rise on the night?
Rolling breath of the gale.

Surely the soul
of the hero rejoices,
and rides on the wind
over his own highland vale.

...attack!


While the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in his icy cold chariot.

Shades of the dead,
Have i not heard your voices
rise on the night.?
Rolling breath of the gale.

Surely the soul
of the hero rejoices,
and rides on the wind
over his highland vale.

Clouds there encircle
the forms of my fathers,
they dwell in the tempest
of the dark lake Stygia.

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