Late at night After many long trails We sit in the moonlight And tell our tales. Of winters past And summers gone, Of rivers fast And early dawn. The greatest storms, The epic war, And evil forms In ancient lore. It started off a normal day; Just a few clouds in the sky, But in the end there'll be hell to pay For those who made us die. The first stone broke Our city's walls. The second, they spoke, Killed children playing ball. Arrows of flame And torches too, They play their game; The water flows red, not blue. Pillage and burn, Burn and pillage, Now we all yearn For peace in our village. Because of mighty siegecraft, Our city’s gone and everything near it, But how were they so daft To think they could break our spirit? In song and silence Our story’s told We’ll be written hence In tales of old. A slight chill In the air Means gone the thrill Of summer fair. Oh, the snow In cold wind falling Ever we know The sound of wolves calling. In the eternal freeze, We have to think twice, And in the slightest breeze, Our blood turns to ice. We see a landscape white And many frozen streams. Although in this frozen night, No stars will ever gleam. But the winter unending Is finally broken. We think it a sending; From the gods - a token. In song and silence Our story’s told We’ll be written hence In tales of old. The lines advance With mounted knights The sword and lance In the morning light. We move across The barren plain To bloody loss- Eternal pain. On top of a hill Stand dark shadows But our soldiers still March in their sad rows. They race down To slay all of us. We fall to the ground And die in the dust. We soldiers each And every one, Will never reach The setting sun. In song and silence Our story’s told We’ll be written hence In tales of old. What once was dry As dust is wet We see the ocean rise And the fish escape our net. The water rushes on and on, Flooding village, city, town. Against this force we’re naught but pawns; The onlsaught wears the mountains down. We build a giant ship and Sail across the stormy seas. There is no sight of land So we pray down on our knees. That which rises must also fall Like the constant tide. Taking refuge on the summits tall, We lived but our friends died. In song and silence Our story’s told We’ll be written hence In tales of old. We sit around our fire Gazing at the sky, To sleep we must retire, And so we end with a sigh. Our tales spoke of glory And our fire still burns, But the page of our story Has yet to turn.