Clad in ragged armor, we advance towards the doors
Of the place where nothing’s true; Where we could forget our wars
And our scars and masks and lies; Ignorance will be our bliss
Torn apart yet built anew; We shall truly look amiss.
Snowstorms heavy in our wake; Clouds in front amassing rain
We were few but we were brave; Ended was the evil reign
But in our triumphant glory we forgot that we were men
And the gods' eternal vigil did not miss us once again
We were exiled, thrown away; Three of us are long now gone
Thirty-seven hundred more never lived to see the dawn
Gods' wrath high and man's schemes low
Only five now walk through snow.
Broken, now reforged and numb, we will storm the stalwart walls
Of the monastery of light, where the gods reside in halls
Made of alloys lithe and swell, bones and trees there grow together
Like the finest woman's dress, fitting tightly like a tether
Gods forgot us now, and we; Shall remind them of our hate
Serving it, a dish best cold, on a pretty silver plate.
There we'll find the fair maidens, and the best of worldly wines
That the preachers lure us with to the wars of the divine.
Mountains steep and rivers deep we shall cross until we find
What could even not be found by the holy of our kind
There we'll find the soaring walls, and besiege them in our manner
Right until the gods give in and get out their whitest banner
Then we'll climb upon the cliffs, and together we shall stand
And the proudest god of gods shall bow down to our demands
There we'll make the world again, and again until we have
Lands of rich and pure good, that we'll settle down to reave.