From the north to the south
From the east to the west
All that waits for me is the grave
I have been where my brothers
lay fallen
And my kind are as slaves
Bloodied yet unbowed
I sing a song of the tomb
Of the cold and heathen earth
Of
the Gods that await me
I raise a glass in your name
For when the sun rise again
To our deaths like condemned men
This
is the twilight of the ages
And no man shall stand
I sing a song of the tomb
Of the cold and heathen earth
With virgin
voice to poisoned womb
I call to the shadowed kind
To men of myth, etched in stone
Whose songs are heard no more
The women of
the barren lands
This is your time
[Lyrics: A.A. Nemtheanga]
[Music: MacUilliam and Primordial]
["Our myths are
steeped in blood and tragedy and the grim acceptance of fate. The difference between these myths and the lessons they teach us and the
modern day are virtually non existant. A man's life, decided by the warmongers, by the blade of a knife, a bullet from a gun or a bomb is
no different from the warmongers and warriors of legend. We write our own legends today, here and now, yet always with
blood."]
