The bitter taste of righteous blood Stains the oaken lips Spurs the vernal bones Of primal guardians in service of the savage one The gruesome hunt-horn drones
Hail! Huntsman! The forest rides tonight! Hail! Huntsman! Rid us of this blight!
Over archaic laughs of sport The captives plead and wail Some are dragged underground To be devoured at the horrid feasts of nameless gods To be scraps for Drathna's hounds
Hail! Huntsman! The forest rides tonight! Hail! Huntsman! Rid us of this blight!
And lo! Through the brush there came a sight terrible to behold The stag god, accompanied by his spidery host He who is brother to the mountains Warden of the untamed And butcher of the fearful
They marched across The Iron Jaw with sword and helm Seeking fabled woodland doorways to the twilight realms The proudest of their captains are now hunted like boars Their banners lie in gory pools upon the forest floorTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
