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(aaaaahhh) Under the weight
of the iron-gray skies,
Where the white crests of the ocean arise.
Stone and the storm wind are singing of old,
Of high timbered arches and tables of gold.
Raise
the heavy
shields on high,
Let the silver
trumpets cry! (hooo-ahhh)
Roar,
wild sea,
against
the mountain wall! Echo,
grand wind, through the golden
hall! Ancestral spirits lead us home!
Carved on the pillars of ancient design,
Legends are woven in copper and pine.
Keepers of thunder and masters of light,
We stand on the threshold
of infinite night.
Roar, wild sea,
against the mountain wall!
Echo,
grand wind, through the golden hall!
Ancestral spirits lead us home!
Echoing, echoing,
home...