Quenching the Roman hunger The bloated worms are here, To gorge upon our children And the dunghill to our fears
The dreamless sleep of death And the frozen hand of Nero In misty trails of blood As never seen before
Embraced, With death's disrobing hands Our thirsting souls We sacrifice As cold as mouldering clay Our remains will become Shadows of time
To drink from sorrow's chalice The dregs of malignant hate We walk on broken eagles At the foot of death's black gates
Ahead the dark red smoke Behind untrodden snow This battle will be fought And no one will ever know
In memory we will descend In awe-creating guise Will anyone ever recall The lost great British tribesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
