Hymn To The Son

Lying on a ground full of entrails, knowing it's the last chance to feel your sword, fighting hard and bleeding for your homeland. No-one will say that your blood was spilled in vain. They will sing a hymn to your glory, carry your remains on defended ground. Blades will guide your march to your fathers. We stand here sending you a last resounding Hail! I cross the sea and all my doubts vanish, the hails behind fade to shades. The eternal hall of my ancestors opens the doors and welcomes the son.