The birthplace of Crown,
A small slavic town,
That keeps all the answers in it.
Rebellious kings
And glorious wins
Were prophets of long golden years.
A rider with shield
On red battle field
Was captured on national colours.
It's been years since
The last noble prince
Ruled over the blue-eyed kingdom.
Old legends are gone,
But new ones are born
Of witnesses of past blooming days.
Like awakened ghosts,
Who hunt enemy hosts,
They flood busy streets of all towns.
Unlike famous Wild Hunt,
Silver riders confront
And defeat cursed souls in daylight.
Moved by desire for truth,
Full of powers of youth,
They carry no sword but a flower.
Soon will come the light
And, tired of fight,
The riders will finally rest.
And they will come home,
Where once was a dome,
But now only ruins are left,
In the birthplace of Crown,
In the small slavic town,
That keeps all the answers in it.