| Towards an empty land we sailed*
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| Nemed, our father, led the way
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| Towards the home of the brave and free
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| Towards our isle of destiny
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| We raised two forts and cleared twelve plains
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| We worked the land and claimed our place
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| Four lakes burst up out of the ground
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| We sacrificed on sacred mounds
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| But gods envy the delights of men!
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| A terrible evil swarmed ashore
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| And with them came disease and war
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| Their runed flesh was foul and black
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| In battle their two kings were met
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| Three thousand Nemedians fell that day
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| A pillar of stone was raised for each man slain
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| Three thousand pillars on the plain
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| Nemed himself soon died of plague
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| Two thirds of all we had, they claimed
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| One last assault on Conand’s tower
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| One final attempt to end the terror
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| Through mists of time
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| Sound bloody chimes
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| Of clashing shields
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| Of arrows soaring
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| Of battle-horns
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| And stones roaring
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| Score sixty thousand fought that day
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| Conand and his heirs were slain
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| The Fomorian tower of strength lay waste
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| More pillars on the plains were raised
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| Yet Morc returned from across the waves
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| Countless demons retaliate
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| On rhythms of rage he wrote our fate
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| Thirty Nemedians survived that day
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| In utter defeat we sailed away
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| Leaving behind our sacred ground
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| Where naught of us remained…
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| But battle-pillars on the plains |