knowledge of the secret race
passed on through a lineage of holy men
from the time of giants and Hoglös days
through his waters passed down again

sons of the blood, march across the moor
for evil's sake, off to war, off to war

brothers not of blood, shiver in the cold
frostbit feet, walk the path, as did their father of old
possessors of the spirit hold what is to learn
our enemies taste our forces' darkness, all their children burn

from our fort we hear, from the west draw nigh
sounds of savage cries
their steel may last, but their bodies not
they abide not by the signs of our times