A prophecy:
Night descends upon the glade
And moon spreads its unreal dim light
Some ghosts of druids come out of stones
Demoniac kings they leave their thrones
The forest wind talks to the trees
An ancient prophecy is to be
But man should better never to have to know it

Once a storm upset the earth
And Celtic lands were sweeped away
The wind of ruin pass over Lyoness
And consecrated "her" the first kind's end
Look at us, man who from so far came
The druids who dance in night of Beltane
Will give you the doomest omen
Here in Stonehenge....

---

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