Fog On The Battlefield

It was said that our race had passed into legend but i´ll tell you a story about ancient times
When the ones of my blood stroke with power to defend their roots with their life.

Early morning awakes the blood-rage and a bastion now rides battlewards
Burning eyes watch over the enemy, a spark and the fire will start to burn.

And the voice of the ancient ones is a message blowing winged to be heed
´cause my blood has dwelt here for centuries there will always be a “we” and a “they”.

Early mourning, sweat and bloodshed rising with the battlefield´s fog
One more day of battles and corpses, flesh for the ravens fertilize the earth.

Stained my face with your blood and pointing down my sword
It´s time to feast and to drink from the horns
But before clean up your ax, Why? For Tomorrow? NO!
(There´s) No tomorrow for us, cold is the wind that blows in our hearts
Only the halls of gods are waiting for us.