IRC-Galleria

A land born of a Nordic tribe
Long ago our fore fathers arrived
To live with the wind, walk the fires
Sent by the gods to please their desires

The snow was gently falling
A white mist filled the air
I hear mid-winter calling
And its calling for me
Calling for me

As I swing my sword in the wind
I feel the powers it brings within
Having it with me all my life
My son can you hear the wolves cry
Can you hear the wolves cry

Now I pass it to you my son
What was given to me that stormy night
I feel the breeze come in cold
Now IÂ’m ready, please guide me home
Please guide me home