Curse of the Cwelled

Snared under fire-blackened skies, fettered in humbling irons

Burned are the staples of life

Crushed by a torturing hand, terrors demolish the land

Low is the spirit of man

Yield prostrate in decay, dignity stolen away

Grim is the price that was paid

Brave are the ones who defy rulers in castles on high

Slowly a nation will die

Arrogant conquering powers, pompous in ivory towers

Crows at the carcass devour

Oil in a deadly machine, cruelty reigning supreme

Sneering at all that has been

But we will rise, cast them aside

See the tyrants flee to the hostile sea

And we will own all that will be

Never fade or fall, ever breaking free

See the fires on the hills

Hear the hammers ring

Feel the thrill of the fight

Let the storm begin

'Worhton [hie] castelas wide geond þas þeode, and earm folc swencte, and a syððan hit yflade swiðe. Wurðe god se ende þonne God wylle.' - AS Chronicle 1066

(They built castles all across the land, and oppressed the wretched people, and afterwards it grew ever worse. May the end be good, when God wills.)

Harshly, the wretched compelled; bearing the curse of the cwelled

Plundered is dwelling and feld

Roaming, the ousted adrift; stoic, the stalwart persist

Bleak is the conqueror's gift

But (so) we will rise, cast them aside

See the tyrants flee to the hostile sea

And we will own all that will be

Never fade or fall, ever (we are) breaking free

See the fires on the hills

Hear the hammers ring

Feel the thrill of the fight

Let the storm begin