---

Over the thriving meadows and fields,
It is morosely floating with the wind.
Close your eyes and feel
The spirit of past histories.
Hear the whispers of sorrowful woods in the night.
They have grown from the blood.
Silent voices of the warriors,
Orders calling to fight.

Hear the voice
Of Mother the Earth that's calling
From beneath
The meadows soaked with blood.

And the sky of thunders goes dark,
And the wild tramp of horses comes up.
In the symphony of swords and shields,
Let the bloodshed begin.
A still field now turns into the theatre of death.
Shouts arise.
The still bodies cover the ground.
Ground soaked with blood.

As the rattle of weapons dies down,
Mournful sky in the colour of grief
Cries the tears,
And Mother the Earth forever embraces the slain.

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