Ancestral Skies of Gold

There was a time

When men were proud

There was an age

When these lands were pure divine

There was a place

Where pagan temples stood

There was a pride

The one youll never know

The flickering flames

Of fathers burn silent

In the mystic woods

Of old

Howl of the nightwolf

Echoes through the mountains

In the shadow of the oaken pride

Our pagan might

Still burns strong

Far up in the skies

Falcon proudly flies

Angry winter winds

Carrying its cries

Far beneath the clouds

Wolven rage is born

Angry winter winds

Carrying their cries

As the weight of this age is upon me

I mourn for the world that will never be again

Thousand year old visions haunt me

Of green fields I will never see

Beneath our ancestral skies of gold

Reclaim our pagan spirit

Reclaim our pagan pride

Reclaim our pagan spirit

Reclaim our pagan pride

Reclaim our pagan spirit

Reclaim our pagan spirit

Reclaim our pagan spirit

Reclaim our pagan spirit