| Relics that fell from the hands of the mages of old
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| Fell hands, the relics of an evil that’s no longer known
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| Have scored the soil
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| Faded, blistered, and sunk beneath
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| Thorn of land’s side
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| Men of oak, men of iron
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| Thorn of land’s side
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| Men of steel, men of stone
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| Spires and spindles sleeping under mountain blanket folds
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| An oaken switch, a candle, a blade, this is where I call my home
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| Spires and spindles sleeping under mountain blanket folds
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| An oaken switch, a candle, a blade, this is where I call my home
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| And now we feel the life
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| Hiding on the mountainside
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| As a passing wind
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| Sings us a fading song
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| Eyes that are bright and fixed upon
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| The glory of what lies beyond
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| Binding hearts against the same
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| Binding travelers by flame
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| Listen, the small and the quiet murmurs of the night are here
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| Made of these things and are gone in just a moment’s time
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| A crest, a coin
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| A plume, their blood joined
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| Conclave has now gone from the light
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| The bravery of fools pulls them into the night
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| Conclave has now gone from the light
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| The bravery of fools pulls them into the night
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| The night swallows the daylight, daylight
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| They go to seek what they’ve not known, not known
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| Didn’t you know they would leave and go into the night
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| To set this all right, all right
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| Men of oak, men of iron, men of steel, men of stone
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| Go on to fight
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| You should see their eyes that are bright and fixed upon
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| The glory of what lies beyond
|
| Binding hearts against the same
|
| Binding travelers by flame
|
| Eyes that are bright and fixed upon
|
| The glory of what lies beyond
|
| Binding hearts against the same
|
| Binding travelers by flame
|
| Conclave has now gone from the light
|
| The bravery of fools pulls them into the night |