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Quenching the Roman hunger

The bloated worms are here,

To gorge upon our children

And the dunghill to our fears

The dreamless sleep of death

And the frozen hand of Nero

In misty trails of blood

As never seen before

Embraced,

With death's disrobing hands

Our thirsting souls

We sacrifice

As cold as mouldering clay

Our remains will become

Shadows of time

To drink from sorrow's chalice

The dregs of malignant hate

We walk on broken eagles

At the foot of death's black gates

Ahead the dark red smoke

Behind untrodden snow

This battle will be fought

And no one will ever know

In memory we will descend

In awe-creating guise

Will anyone ever recall

The lost great British tribes