---

Cross the land far an wide,

Like a great ever-swelling flood,

Like a mealstrom of arrow and steel,

Like spirits of plague we have marched.

We have traveld from sea to sea,

We have crossed desert and plane,

And with winter's chilling embrace

We braught flame to the frozen land.

Our banner is omen of death,

Our warcry proclames the swift end,

And for centuries the will be songs

Of destruction we leave in our wake.

Someone said we are destined to rule,

Someone said war is measure of man,

Yet those who we young when we left

Have grown old, have grown weak and frail.

In the midst of victorious war,

Full of joy of plunder and rage,

We sometimes look around an think

Have we lost mor then found in the end?

Is there land in this bitter world,

That was created to fall our prey,

Where the spirit will rule over steel,

Where vision will soothe the blind rage.

Where blood will color baldes red,

Over poetry, not over gold,

Where the word has more value then strike,

Where the calm has more value then war.

ا منیمز یا ، منامز ی یا منامسآ و نیمز