| No one here really quite knows
|
| The far-off origins of your roots
|
| Enough to hoist the colours
|
| Up high from whence they came
|
| You’re towering high and tall
|
| As a broad-shouldered giant of small
|
| Though the ground may be as turbid from above
|
| As the sky seen from below
|
| Blindfolded with tied hands
|
| Forever estranged to chiselled runes
|
| Burial mounds quietly cough
|
| Yet these visions linger
|
| Oh, the Kingdom of Dania
|
| Let’s talk of hearts in decay
|
| Nihilism and insomnia
|
| As we roam the land in dismay
|
| Through vales and hills of our land
|
| The Kingdom of Dania
|
| A veil of mist on your fl at chest
|
| And even I seem to be dragged down
|
| Into the dank and dimly lit catacombs
|
| You look so pretty, my dear -encaged in gold
|
| Peeking through fingers of a stranger’s hand
|
| It makes me truly sad
|
| Oh, the Kingdom of Dania
|
| Let’s talk of hearts in decay
|
| Relationships and insomnia
|
| As we roam the land in dismay
|
| Through vales and hills of our land
|
| The Kingdom of Dania
|
| So awake from your deepened slumber
|
| And unfold a new dream
|
| Cause your past is really nothing
|
| But pale echoing voices and a deep-drawn sigh |