The wounds are carved to the bones, the borders have faded The yesterdays are hailed with open arms Once lost, but now arisen is the strength of the old And the firm beast within, the ruins lie ahead No blood will be shed for the fallen, no seeds will evolve No bridges ahead, all burned and for nothing Where are the books that were written with that blood? Hidden inside and forgotten, betrayed by their nations The end of the nation, the cultural genocide Where the path leads beyond the redemption, through the bones to the dust The thirst of the nature’s darkest womb, a heritage of blood Horns of the certain end, howling for the endless flames to rage
The wounds are carved to the bones, the borders have faded The yesterdays are hailed with open arms Once lost, but now arisen is the strength of the old And the firm beast within, the ruins lie ahead No blood will be shed for the fallen, no seeds will evolve No bridges ahead, all burned and for nothing Where are the books that were written with that blood? Hidden inside and forgotten, betrayed by their nations The end of the nation, the cultural genocide Where the path leads beyond the redemption, through the bones to the dust The thirst of the nature’s darkest womb, a heritage of blood Horns of the certain end, howling for the endless flames to rage
