In the fulgor of the night, birds reveal what believed to be lost. A living spark among orgies of silence in the cold winds.
The moon as the only witness that exhales the tears of joy, as rain falling to the ground.

Fields stained with blood, birthrise the spirit of the warrior.
Long lost in the depths of Aita.
Resting from the haze of the sun, with my people that awaits at their mutnas. But no grave is deep enough to bury a truth.

“Vinum libations exalt the imperial rise of the fearless men, that take retaliation for their lautn. The unconquerable genome lies intact in each one of us.”

O, Vanth, your torch shall wait once more. For ours swords must cut their impure dynasties in half and throw them to the wolves.

O, Charun, your mighty hammer of balance shall escort my spiritform beyond the mirror. And guide it among the seas of flames.

“The blood of the warriors fall to the grass. Thus is endowed the ground with boundless cycles of tyrants and enslavers, and endless birds in the sky.”

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.