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 NIGHT OF THE OF SWORDS):
O' grim gods of battle, us this night...
Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel slaughter...
Let every 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 spear feels good in my hands,
girt 'round with spells (our flesh gloriously) anointed,
Ravens slaughter soar high above,
bloat on red carnage,
I'll the moon-wheel in their flesh,
as havoc the heather!

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

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

And the of the earth shall be slaked
with blood at the of carnage...
A staggering sea of crimson, a mountain of ravaged flesh,
All enraptured by the kiss of steel,
All surfeit from supping deep of the grim of battle...

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

The is at hand!

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Bright moon, o'er moor and heather,
wood and vale, fen and lake,
Grim mountains with snows,
rings of stones, black 'neath the stars,
The extol our ancient glory,
great mounds feed us, power the sacred earth.
faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
our runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.

Wolves of the north, thine steel to the skies,
revel in the pride of wounds,
Let our victory-song ride the winds of blood-gorged eve,
For on this of red swords we have wrought a legend,
Forged in the of our rage,
and tempered with the blood of the slain...

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

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