Maybe better not to remember? Maybe better not to have been told? Yet all is alive Only wolves are now wandering blind.
The end of an ancient world. Tales of deeds carolled in blood Land of the forgotten sons Kings and nations forgone.
Land of giants one of them is fire His brothers the wind we breathe The body of water so generous and deep We are all heirs of the ground we keep.
The three crowns returned to the west To reminisce where the third had rest Hill forts abandoned by the guests Too steep the slopes for the two bears to make their nests.
Land of giants one of them is fire His brothers the wind we breathe The body of water so generous and deep We are all heirs of the ground we keep.
Of wood, stone and bone his castles are made His folk gathered in the backwoods' maze Fortified with twigs, ice and horns Stone cold souls awaiting the battle that will not be lost.
Maybe better not to remember? Maybe better not to have been told? Yet all is alive Only wolves are blind.