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History was written in blood listening to the words of the ancestors

when we were a wild people lost in the mountains in the darkness of time.

The agony has created an echo in the valleys where ghostly hordes with thirst for revenge

destroy everything in their path. There is sadness in the forest

of old warriors on the threshold of death rejected by spirits

refugees in the gloomy fog between moans of enchanted winds

waiting to be swallowed by the mother earth before the gaze of the dark lord.

The heresy of lost hope the essence of our forgotten names.