Luyện nghe bài hát To Dethrone The Witch-queen Of Mytos K'unn

(The Of The Battle Of Blackhelm Vale)

THE OF WAR:
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THE WAR OF CAYLEN-TOR
(ON THE OF THE BLOODYING OF SWORDS):
O' grim gods of battle, empower us night...
Anoint us with the rain, feed our steel with slaughter...
Let blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death.
Come, moon-fogs, Descend to our numbers,
the heady of battle beckons,
My ash-hafted feels good in my hands,
girt 'round with spells (our gloriously) woad anointed,
Ravens awaiting soar high above,
blood-worms on red carnage,
I'll carve the moon-wheel in flesh,
as churns the heather!

A mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by
the fen-witches of the great mere... night and moon-mist shall be
our as we surge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears
for a brief moment, and I gaze down the V alley to behold the
of the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the heather,
powerful steeds tethered, the light from countless brands
the night, many warriors standing, weapons in hand...
aye, all fodder.

in war-fogs...
by war-spells...
Blessed in as raven-saters,
slake the thirst of burning bright,
the harvest of spilled entrails,
we'll return with many this night.
The death-ravening black fills me,
The spatter of hot blood on my lips,
This yard of sings a deadly song in my grasp!
Cleaving bodies and right,
a head falls with each of my blade,
A storm of shafts form yew-bows,
(through armoured ranks we shall)
carve a with steel, a blood-drenched swath!

And the thirst of the earth shall be
with blood at the of carnage...
A staggering sea of crimson, a towering mountain of flesh,
All enraptured by the searing of steel,
All from supping deep of the grim chalice of battle...

gods of the north,
display to these outlander thralls ire,
Envenom our with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the war-wolves within us,
That their claws may rend, and their may be reddened.

The is at hand!

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Bright moon, gleam moor and heather,
and vale, deep fen and lake,
Grim crowned with snows,
rings of stones, black 'neath the stars,
The storms extol our glory,
great mounds feed us, from the sacred earth.
With and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
our runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.

of the north, raise thine steel to the skies,
revel in the pride of wounds,
Let our ride the winds of this blood-gorged eve,
For on this night of red we have wrought a legend,
in the fires of our rage,
and tempered with the spilled of the slain...

O' grim gods of battle, empower us this and always,
Anoint us with the rain,
forever feed our steel slaughter...
Let blow be a killing blow,
us eternal victory, 'til we die a warrior's death.

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