| A snowed in forest path
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| With lament I dream of long forgotten times
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| An image comes to my mind
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| Of a young man riding through the frozen woods
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| In his eyes rage and bitter tears
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| His village was burnt to the ground
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| He storms forth, crying out his pain
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| He is driven by his mothers last words:
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| Raise your sword, my warrior
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| And revenge us
|
| Fight the men that came to rape our souls
|
| Never let our gods die.
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| Hi’s loved ones were no more
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| The false men with cross slaughtered them all
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| They tried to enforce strange rules
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| Which were only meant to turn men to fools
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| His people saw through the lies
|
| They stood proud until the end of their time
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| By the false men they were shamed
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| Young man for your honour you will have to die.
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| Raise your sword, my warrior
|
| And revenge us
|
| Fight the men that came to rape our soil
|
| Never let nature die
|
| My vision ends here
|
| And I return to the modern world
|
| Suddenly I see a young man walking
|
| Sad blue eyes in a bitter face
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| And there’s a young man in the east
|
| And another in the west
|
| And another raising from the south
|
| They all move on driven by the call:
|
| Raise yourself, warrior
|
| And revenge us
|
| Fight the men with cross that raped our souls
|
| Never let our gods die
|
| Raise yourself, warrior
|
| And revenge us
|
| Fight the men with cross that raped our soil
|
| Never let nature die |