[Music by Nordavind '92]
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Eternally sounds the mighty waves,
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A triton's hymn round a rock-strewn grave,
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The passing sigh for the bones that moulder,
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Over the nordic black sea, where the winds btew colder.
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Here in a bed of wrack and shingle,
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Beneath rests a sea king of the north,
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His fallen history remains unknown,
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Now his grave is just a heap of stones.
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"The waves crest sharp as an unsheated blade,
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As spume-topped breakers shorewards loom,
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And boulder on boulder on land is laid,
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The triton's hymn round a vanished tomb"
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The ocean cradles it's sleepy wave,
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Round the curve of the yellow sand.
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Of the bleak and mysterious little isle,
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Where no leaf has been touched by human hands.
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Then I behold that island so fair,
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Where the tree's lift their crown in prayers
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To the golden glow of the evening sky
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I hold the sword towards the moon,
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my memories echoes with cries.
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Hark, to the ocean's cold clamerous roar,
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The pale mist hovers towards the nightly shores.
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For the fire in my burning flame,
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Hail to the father of the fallen flame.
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Acknowledge the supreme Northern (racial) purity.
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That runs in the blood of my veins.
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As the nocturnal curtain falls
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With the total eclipse of the moon above...
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The pale mist hovers towards the nightly shores.
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The Pale Mist Hovers Towards The Nightly Shores
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| Carpathian Forest |
